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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30044958">patchwork quilt of a life</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonulyn/pseuds/fonulyn'>fonulyn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(except the flashbacks obv), A lot of comfort, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Feels, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, Nightmares, Slice of Life, a whole ton of hugs lol, and more headbumps than i had any right to fit in, but also snapshots of their past in flashbacks, literally in one sentence but be aware, lots of family feels, mainly Nicky's loveless childhood, nothing very explicit but references to corporal punishment, past self-worth issues, post-movie pre-epilogue, very brief past suicidal ideation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:01:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30044958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonulyn/pseuds/fonulyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not the first time they need to adjust to changes in their lineup. It is not the first time they lose someone, or the first time they find someone new. It is, however, the first time both happen at once. It is, also, the first time they’re choosing to exile one of their own, however temporarily. Yet after everything, what remains is family.</p>
<p>-<br/>Or a scrapbook of memories through a millennium, and a family adjusting to a new normal.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>174</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Old Guard Big Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>patchwork quilt of a life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so! I’ve been thinking of what I want to say here but I don’t really even know where to begin! </p>
<p>firstly, a word of warning: like mentioned in the tags, there is one flashback where Nicky very briefly thinks that it might be easier to just end his life. it’s a fleeting thought and never acted upon, but if you think it might be triggering for you, feel free to ask me for specifics. aside from that, there are mentions of Nicky’s childhood not being exactly the most love-filled one (his father very much believed in corporal punishment), and Booker being in a pretty dark place in one of the flashbacks, but that’s about it. </p>
<p>the rest is feelsy and fluffy, bc feelsy and fluffy is what I do. sprinkled with a bit of angst.</p>
<p>even though I hint at it several times, it’s never actually <i>specifically </i>mentioned anywhere in the fic where they are in the current timeline, so imagine whatever you wish, but in my mind they’re 100% in Finland, in my grandma’s now-abandoned house, so I based all of the descriptions on that :’D but you do you. the flashbacks take place all over, and they’re not in chronological order, either. the main timeline is, though.</p>
<p>lastly, and most importantly: gigantic thank yous go to <a href="https://oropherrrrr.tumblr.com/">Becky</a> for reading through this even though it's not even her fandom and giving me a <i>much</i> needed confidence boost, to <a href="https://kneesofthebee.tumblr.com/">Bee</a> for fixing my typos and brightening my life with her amazing commentary, to <a href="https://lovelyleons.tumblr.com/">Theo</a> for being the best cheer-reader known to man, and to <a href="https://tatsueli.tumblr.com/">Li</a> for the lovely encouraging comments. love you guys 💖</p>
<p>that's about it. I've babbled enough :'D enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thud of the door closing behind them feels almost too final, somehow, and Nicky can barely suppress a flinch. He knows he’s being ridiculous, it’s just a door, it’s something so mundane he shouldn’t be paying it any mind. Yet here they are, in a dingy little motel room that certainly isn’t meant to house five people – <i>four, no Booker, only four</i>, Nicky’s mind chants at him – four people, but that they’re going to make it work somehow because they can <i>not </i>be apart right now.</p>
<p>Not after they’ve just sent away a member of their <i>family</i>.</p>
<p>The mere thought of that sends a fresh wave of anger through Nicky. Anger mixed with sorrow and guilt, disbelief and hurt, all wrapped up in a layer of sheer <i>tiredness </i>that is the only thing muting the feelings enough for him to handle them at all. Each breath he takes is labored, slow and measured, and he stands right there next to the door counting each and every one of them. </p>
<p>Then Andy is right there next to him, places a warm palm on his shoulder and pulls him further into the room. “Nicky,” she says, drawing his name out the way she only does when she’s exasperated with him but still can’t mask the fondness in her voice. “I know this isn’t a four star hotel, but c’mon. It has three beds and a bathroom, what else do we need?” She pushes him to sit down on one of the beds and he goes easily, looks up at her, and her smile eases something inside of him. “It’s only for one night.”</p>
<p>They’re both more than aware that Nicky has nothing against the room, as dreary as it is. He’s slept in far worse places, and never complained. He appreciates her effort, though. She’s saying she understands, she’s saying she feels the same, and she’s telling him to be easy on himself, all at once without saying any of the actual words. So he doesn’t argue, only smiles at her reassuringly and settles. </p>
<p>“I almost argued for a fourth bed,” Nile admits with a crooked grin, “but then I remembered that one of them would just go to waste.” She looks a little unsure of herself, like she’s not entirely sure if she’s allowed to joke like this with them. She’s already shown herself to be fierce and capable, ready to stand up for what she believes in, but there’s a certain easy openness to her emotions that makes Nicky ache. </p>
<p>“Not necessarily,” Joe says with his usual easy humor, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he drops down to sit on the bed next to Nicky. There’s a palm’s width between them, not a single part of them even touching, and yet it still feels like they’re orbiting each other, like they always do. “Sometimes Andy pushes two beds together,” he goes on, laughter in his voice, “because, and I quote, it’s what the queen deserves.”</p>
<p>That startles a laugh from Nile, and even Andy is grinning, not even trying to brush it off. “I have slept on dirt floors more than on modern mattresses,” she says, carelessly kicking off her shoes. “Fuck yes I deserve that.” As soon as the boots are gone she looks like she’s about to throw herself onto her bed but she changes her mind in the nick of time, possibly remembering her stitches, and instead lies down carefully. </p>
<p>Her grunt of pain is almost inaudible but it could’ve as well detonated a bomb in the room with how it makes everyone freeze in their tracks and stare at her. There’s an annoyed crease to her brow, but she doesn’t say anything, instead shifts until she’s comfortable and closes her eyes. “Nicky?” she calls, without looking up. “Don’t wake me up before there’s coffee.”</p>
<p>Nicky huffs out something that’s very nearly a laugh. “Got it, boss.”</p>
<p>Finally, it feels like his frayed nerves are a little less raw, and he shifts closer to Joe. Easily Joe lifts his arm and lets Nicky slot against his side, like they’ve done millions of times before. It used to be a little awkward, Nicky not knowing how to angle his wide shoulders, not used to such easy intimacy with anyone. It wasn’t something he’d been taught, even his mother stopped holding him when he learned to walk. </p>
<p>With Joe, though, it soon became the easiest thing in the world, holding and being held. So it doesn’t take Nicky even a conscious effort to get comfortable, until he can press his face against the crook of Joe’s neck. He tilts his head until Joe’s beard tickles his nose, places his palm on Joe’s thigh to give it a gentle squeeze. “You should shower,” he whispers, mindful of how Andy’s breathing has turned steady and slow, hopeful that she might be asleep. </p>
<p>“Are you telling me I smell?” Joe asks, equally softly, yet with no little amount of amusement. Distantly Nicky registers Nile’s stifled laugh from the third bed, and it draws a smile from him, too. </p>
<p>“Never,” Nicky argues, pressing the curve of his smile against Joe’s skin, “but I’m not going to listen to you complain about it in the morning when you’d rather have five more minutes of sleep.” It’s such a stupid little thing, a detail that certainly shouldn’t hold this much weight, but even after literal centuries together the mere thought of how much Joe hates early mornings makes something in Nicky’s heart flutter. </p>
<p>Joe hums softly in agreement, “you do know me, love.” He brushes his fingers against Nicky’s arm, draws a lazy circle onto his bicep through the thin shirt, before squeezing him closer to himself for a second. “May I tempt you to join me?” He makes it sound like it’s suggestive, like he has something in mind, even though he knows Nicky sees right through it. They’re beyond tired, they’ll be lucky if they get through washing their hair before falling asleep. </p>
<p>“Yes,” Nicky answers anyway, already straightening, regretfully detaching from Joe. “You may.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p><br/>
“I already know I cannot die,” Sebastien says as he raises the bottle in his hand as if he’s proposing a toast. There’s only dregs left of the wine, and no one even tried to contest him for it, especially not after he said it made him feel warmer. They know how many times the man froze to death before he got himself free, even more until he got himself back to civilization. It’s perfectly warm now, he’s sitting next to a fireplace, slouched low in his seat, bundled up in a thick coat. But the coldness seems to have made a home in his bones.</p>
  <p>Nicolò knows something about coldness like that, unreasonable and only existing in one’s mind, and his soul aches for the new addition to their broken family. He wished so badly for someone who would slot in easily, someone who would fill some of the void left by Quynh, but he knows that was a fool’s hope. It’s unfair to put so much pressure on a man who only weeks ago found out he cannot die, in one of the worst ways imaginable. </p>
  <p>“I already know that,” Sebastien repeats, and takes a swig from the bottle. “So why are you here?” He makes it sound flippant, like he really doesn’t even care either way. Yet his eyes are damn near <i>begging </i>for something, even if no one really knows what. Probably least of all he himself. “What is the purpose of this? What do you want from me?”</p>
  <p>Immediately Nicolò opens his mouth to answer, but he is cut off by Andy’s huff. “<i>This </i>again?” she snaps, her voice steely as she continues. “You cannot die. Which means you cannot <i>stay</i>. You need to come with us whether you want it or not. Your life here is over.” </p>
  <p>Sebastien flinches. Nicolò sighs. He’s known Andy for long enough: he recognizes the softness in her tone and the concern behind the statement. He recognizes how her patience is wearing thin. She’s never had to do this before. Before, each immortal she ever found was overjoyed to find others like them, was ready to follow her and slot into this new world, this new life. Sebastien though? He stubbornly clings onto his life from before, refuses to even entertain the notion of leaving.</p>
  <p>And Andy is done repeating herself. </p>
  <p>“I don’t need to do anything,” Sebastien says, then. His voice is brittle, but there’s defiance in his eyes and he doesn’t waver. “What will you do if I refuse? It’s not like you can kill me.” He empties the bottle, sighing as he drops it to the side, and finally he pushes himself upright. “This is useless. I’m going home.”</p>
  <p>Andy doesn’t even try to hold back the eyeroll, and when she turns to Yusuf and Nicolò she raises both her eyebrows as if telling them ‘<i>See? What am I supposed to do with this?</i>’ She’s beyond exasperated but she thankfully swallows down the angry words instead of flinging them towards the newest one in their midst. </p>
  <p>“Sebastien, please,” Nicolò tries, then, figuring he has nothing to lose here, “we can do some good. We can help people.” There are warm fingers slotting between his own, Yusuf’s palm finding its home against his, natural as anything. </p>
  <p>“It’s what we do,” Yusuf adds as he squeezes Nicolò’s hand. “They need us.”</p>
  <p>“My <i>family </i>needs me!” Sebastien spits. He spins around so fast he almost loses his balance, but he pretends like nothing happened and squares his shoulders. He’s trying so hard to appear calm and unaffected but there’s no mistaking the way he’s squeezing his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms, every single muscle tense as he goes on, voice wavering. “And ‘<i>do good’</i>? What did the world ever do for <i>me</i>?”</p>
  <p>He doesn’t wait for them to respond. He turns around and walks off, not even glancing back. It’s frustratingly similar to the way every single one of their meetings has ended so far, some sooner, some later. Andy isn’t the only one who is starting to feel helpless and unwilling to go through the same thing over and over and over. </p>
  <p>It’s silent for a while, before Andy looks up, arching an eyebrow. “You two were never this much trouble.”</p>
  <p>The words startle a laugh out of Yusuf and he throws his head back, his posture relaxing immediately as he finds back to more certain footing, when his world rights itself instead of being tilted off its axis by something that’s beyond their control. “You don’t even believe that yourself,” he says, a smile still lingering, and he glances towards Nicolò as if to make sure that he’s in on the joke as well, that he appreciates it properly. Immediately the tension bleeds off of Nicolò, his breaths turning steadier as his body automatically responds to Yusuf’s smile and all the things it represents. </p>
  <p>Andy hums a little, leaning back in her chair, but she’s smiling. It’s a weary, faint little thing but it’s a smile regardless, and that is a victory in itself. “Maybe we should let him see this through,” she says, and it’s immediately obvious who she’s referring to. “It’s not like we don’t have the time.”</p>
  <p>“It’s hard for him,” Yusuf says gently, so full of compassion for their new brother in arms even though thus far they’ve gotten nothing but arguments and reluctance in return. “He will outlive his wife, his children… It’s a devastating thing to lose your family like that. Lose them already before their time here ends.”</p>
  <p>A part of Nicolò wants to argue. How is this any different from how Yusuf had to mourn for his siblings and their families, his little cousins and his friends and their children? He was there, all those nights Yusuf stared into nothingness or cried himself to sleep, when he struggled to make sense of all of this. </p>
  <p>In some ways, Nicolò thinks he may be lucky. He didn’t lose a family when he died by Yusuf’s hand that very first time. His family was lost to him long before that. </p>
  <p>In the end, Nicolò says nothing. Andy is the one who nods slowly, finalizing their decision. “We’ll keep an eye on him.” She pinches her mouth into a grim line, staring straight at the fireplace. For the longest moment it seems like she’s not going to say anything, before she sighs and squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m too old for this shit.”</p>
  <p>Wordlessly Yusuf reaches for her, and without even looking she takes the offered hand and gives Yusuf’s fingers a squeeze, before she lets go again.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“We could have actually booked like, actual tickets and sat on actual seats, you do know that right?” Nile says, mostly to have something to say at all, since she knows it’s a moot point. She slumps back against the wall, before she gives in and just slides downwards, taking a seat between some crates that are their only traveling company.<p>For a second Nicky sees Booker sitting there, grumbling about them not having time to go get the new one, not now, but between one blink and the next he vanishes and it’s all Nile again. She leans her head back, her eyes slipping shut. They already took two different trains before this, and in between spent a couple of hours on a ferry, and she seems like she’s ready for them to finally reach their destination.</p>
<p>“Watch out,” Joe says from where he’s settled comfortably, knees drawn up and a sketchpad balanced on them. He doesn’t even look up, but continues to work on his sketch in quick strokes, a small smile curving his lips. “Unless you want to get the entire six-hour lecture on how we’re lucky we don’t need to walk, although that would be preferable to this, and how horseback riding was the best invention known to man.”</p>
<p>Andy huffs but doesn’t dignify that with an answer.</p>
<p>“She would be right,” Nicky says, meeting Joe’s eyes the second Joe glances up, mirth in his eyes. </p>
<p>At that, Nile barks out a short laugh. “I can’t actually disagree with that,” she says, stretching out her legs in an attempt to get more comfortable. “I’ve never done horseback riding in my life.” She opens her eyes again and straightens her shoulders, arching an eyebrow as her eyes meet Nicky’s. “I <i>have </i>done a shitton of walking, though, and that is <i>not</i> preferable to this.”</p>
<p>“You’re right,” Nicky admits easily, “but Andy is right about the horses. They are magnificent creatures.”</p>
<p>“Please, love,” Joe cuts in, reaching out to nudge Nicky’s foot with his own. “Do not prompt her. You remember how it went the last time?” He arches an eyebrow, before turning to look at Nile. He even lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, although it’s still loud enough for all of them to hear effortlessly. “I don’t actually know how long she kept ranting, I fell asleep in the middle of it.”</p>
<p>Andy scoffs, but she’s smiling as well as she pushes herself half-upright and looks straight at Joe. “And how is that in any way different from the time we were stuck in that cave and you spent an eternity on describing me the exact color of Nicky’s eyes?” She’s exaggerating, but they roll with it, grateful for the semblance of normalcy in this. </p>
<p>There’s another barely stifled laugh from Nile, and when she turns to Nicky she’s smiling disbelievingly. “Is she really paralleling <i>you </i>with <i>horses</i>?”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind,” Nicky says and shrugs, “they’re majestic creatures.” </p>
<p>This time Nile lets her laughter free. Even through the air of melancholy around them it feels like the first fresh breeze of spring, easing some of the heaviness in their hearts.</p>
<p>Andy does give a shortened version of the rant on the superiority of horseback riding. Afterwards it doesn’t take long for Nile to nod off, exhausted from not only the travels of the day but also the way her life has so recently been heaved upside down. Andy follows her soon after, still injured and weak despite her vehement insistence otherwise.</p>
<p>When it’s only the two of them, it’s like all energy leaves Joe at once. He shifts to lie down, and automatically Nicky moves close until Joe can pillow his head on his lap. Slowly Nicky brushes his fingers through Joe’s curls, once again marveling in how it is even possible to love one single man this much. His heart aches for how Joe stayed strong for Nile, and for Andy, for how Joe finally lets himself be supported in turn. </p>
<p>And Nicky is forever grateful he gets to be the one to gently massage Joe’s scalp and feel him relax. </p>
<p>“I keep imagining him,” Joe says at length, barely audibly. With his eyes closed he reaches up, and Nicky knows what he wants. Easily he catches Joe’s hand in his own, resting them on Joe’s chest. “I think of something he’d find hilarious and turn to him but he’s not there. I want to ask him a question, and I already open my mouth, but—”</p>
<p>“He’s not there,” Nicky fills in for him. He squeezes Joe’s hand with his own, his other hand still buried in that mass of curls. There’s tiredness written over Joe’s features that has nothing to do with lack of sleep, weariness that Nicky would do anything to wipe away. “It’s only been days, Yusuf,” he says as softly as he knows how, “you can not erase centuries worth of brotherhood within days. Nor should you.”</p>
<p>Slowly Joe opens his eyes, blinking up at Nicky in the dim light of the train car. Nicky knows heartbreak is painted over his face, too, but that doesn’t matter. He still smiles at Joe as if everything is fine. “I am angry at him,” he says, voice small, “but I… He is family.”</p>
<p>“And family he will remain,” Nicky says, tightening his hold on Joe’s hand just because he can. He hates how neither of them can make this better, how they’ll need to go through the whole process of anger and hurt. How they’ll need to mourn the loss and learn to trust again, before they can genuinely move on and <i>be</i> that family again. “He’ll find his way back to us,” he says, and this time as he smiles at Joe it’s genuine, “we will find our way back to him.”</p>
<p>The stress eases around Joe’s eyes, the curve of his smile easy in a way it hasn’t been all day. “How did you ever become so wise?” he asks, and although it is teasing, there is genuine wonder laced into it. </p>
<p>Even after almost a millennium, Nicky barely knows how to handle the sincerity. “I am only saying what you already know,” he says, brushing his fingers down Joe’s cheek, “you’ve always been the truly wise one.”</p>
<p>“As always,” Joe says, and the laughter in his voice is like the sweetest victory for Nicky, “we will have to agree to disagree.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p><br/>
They’ve been traveling together for days, for weeks, for months. Possibly for years, Nicolò doesn’t really have any idea at this point. To him, time only exists in segments: his childhood, the monastery, the war, and Yusuf. Sometimes, in the dead of night he tries to divide it more, tries to pinpoint when the anger he felt towards Yusuf every time he looked at him turned to acceptance, when it turned to curiosity, when it turned to something he has no name for. </p>
  <p>Even more difficult is trying to decipher the changes in Yusuf. When did those beautiful eyes start to hold something else than accusations in them? Or is Nicolò only imagining it, even now? Maybe he wishes it to be true so desperately that he sees things that do not exist. That is what he’s always done, ever since he was a boy. </p>
  <p>Yet each day they spend together makes something dangerously close to hope sliver into the depths of Nicolò’s heart. Every night they curl close to each other for warmth, Nicolò holds his breath as he waits, he waits and waits and waits, until Yusuf presses so close they’re touching. Sometimes it’s only Yusuf’s shoulder against Nicolò’s back, sometimes it’s their fingers barely brushing, sometimes it’s Yusuf’s knees pressed against Nicolò’s thigh. </p>
  <p>Sometimes, it’s Yusuf’s arm thrown over Nicolò, his warm body pressed along the length of Nicolò’s back. Those nights don’t feel real at all. Those nights, Nicolò is certain he did die on that battlefield. He must’ve bled to death, choked on his own blood, and this is the last delirious wish of a dying man suspended in time, multitudes expanding inside that one second. </p>
  <p>In daylight, Nicolò tries to control himself. He tries not to show how he soaks in the closeness, the way he greedily revels in every single brush of their hands, every touch he is not worthy of, not deserving of. If Yusuf notices anyway, he does not say a thing. </p>
  <p>Then comes the day when Nicolò is hunched over their campfire, warming his icy cold fingers, and suddenly there’s a large palm on his shoulder. The touch is firm and in the conscious part of his mind Nicolò knows that it’s Yusuf, that it’s only a friendly gesture, something that comes so easily to Yusuf. </p>
  <p>His body does not catch up to that thought, though. He almost falls forward into the fire in his haste to get away, his mind flashing back to the cane his father would grab when displeased, and suddenly all he can hear is the angrily shouted words and the muffled sobbing of his siblings. All he can see is the way his mother stares at him with wide, empty eyes. His heart beats rapidly, up in his throat, blocking his airways and there’s not enough air, there’s not enough air, he can’t breathe, there’s <i>not enough air</i>.</p>
  <p>Then Yusuf reaches out and grabs Nicolò’s shoulder again. Without meaning to, Nicolò flinches.</p>
  <p>Yusuf lets go of him as if he’s been burned. </p>
  <p>Nicolò expects him to be enraged. In many ways, the soft, heartbroken way Yusuf looks at him is worse. He shakes his head, nausea bubbling up, and hastily he tries to back away and put more space between them. The wide-eyed look on Yusuf’s face morphs into hurt, into confusion, and finally twists in the kind of anger Nicolò hasn’t seen on him in a long time. </p>
  <p>“When did I ever give you reason to think I would hurt you!?” Yusuf asks, voice getting higher with barely controlled irritation. </p>
  <p>And Nicolò doesn’t know how to explain. He doesn’t know how to tell Yusuf that when he knows to expect to be touched he cherishes it, but none of it comes naturally to him. He cannot even remember the last time he’d been held by someone other than Yusuf. So when he can’t see the touch coming, when he isn’t given time to prepare for it, his mind flashes right back to the beatings he grew up with. </p>
  <p>All he has left to protect himself is his anger. So he lets it free. “When!?” he asks, voice shrill. “How about when you ran me through with your sword!? When you beat my skull in!? When you strangled me with your bare hands!?” He knows it’s not fair. He’d killed Yusuf as many times in return. He’d spilt as much blood as Yusuf did. And he was the one who came to this land without any right to be here. </p>
  <p>There is nothing rational in his anger, though. Quickly he scrambles up onto his feet, stumbles as he takes two, three steps back, and when Yusuf tries to approach him he throws both his hands up in front of himself. “<i>No</i>!” The scream leaves his throat raw, and he opens his mouth to say more but not a single word comes out. </p>
  <p>There’s a tense spell of silence during which it feels like the entire world stops and they both forget to breathe. It is Yusuf who speaks up first, his face twisted in disbelief. “I thought we were past this,” he says, slowly and carefully, as if he is trying not to aggravate either one of them. “You killed me, too. You bashed my face in with a rock. You almost decapitated me. You refused to die even <i>once </i>if I didn’t die right next to you. You were—”</p>
  <p><i>You were the invader. You were the one who doesn’t belong</i>, Nicolò’s own voice provides an ending to the sentence in his head. A rightful thing to remember. It may have been decades but how could he ever really forget. How could his hands ever be free of the blood he’s stained them with. His palms turn clammy, his breathing shallow, and all he can do is stare at Yusuf without blinking. Then there’s another, familiar voice, whispering in his ear, <i>No one wants you, Nicolò. No one wants you. </i></p>
  <p>Nicolò doesn’t manage a reply, and Yusuf seems to be losing his patience by the second. He visibly steels himself, works his jaw, tilts his head back and closes his eyes for a moment to gain back his control. There’s tension in the lines of his shoulders, so much he looks like he’s about to snap. Yet the words burst out of him like a dam has broken. “Why am I so repulsive to you!?”</p>
  <p>If the whole conversation so far has left Nicolò feeling wrong-footed and like he has no idea how to fix this, the question throws him off the rest of the way. He doesn’t respond, only opens his mouth and closes it, opens it and closes it again. </p>
  <p>There are real, actual tears in Yusuf’s eyes as he spreads his arms wide, lets out a shaky breath and goes on. “You don’t mind helping me up when I’ve fallen. Or sharing every day of your life with me. Not even sleeping next to me.” He takes half a step forward, but then thinks better of it and backs up again. “So why do you jump back from my touch like this?”</p>
  <p>Nicolò tries to find the words. There are none. At least none that won’t make everything <i>worse</i>.</p>
  <p>Yet the silence seems to only add to Yusuf’s pain, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Only barely, only noticeable because Nicolò can’t even blink as he’s staring at him. Yusuf huffs out a joyless laugh, one that catches in his throat and turns into half a sob. “Is it really such a hardship, existing in this world with me?”</p>
  <p>“No,” Nicolò whispers, the word barely audible. As if drawn by an invisible force he steps closer, not quite close enough to touch, but still bridging some of the wide gap he’s created. Yusuf looks at him with such raw hope that he somehow finds the strength to go on from it. Before he can stop himself his feet are moving and he only stops when he’s standing so close to Yusuf there’s barely a step between them. </p>
  <p>Carefully Nicolò reaches out. He hesitates before his fingers come in contact with Yusuf’s cheek, but Yusuf stays still, clearly aware of what is happening and not making a move to stop it or to get away. He just waits, gives Nicolò the time he needs. </p>
  <p>Then Nicolò finds himself brushing his fingertips over Yusuf’s cheek. He traces the edge of his beard, and as he goes he grows more courageous and the touch turns more palpable, more real. When he finally buries his fingers into Yusuf’s long curls, he breathes out a mesmerized “You are wondrous.”</p>
  <p>There are still tears glistening in Yusuf’s eyes but this time Nicolò thinks they might be of something else than devastation or frustration. And once Nicolò has started, he doesn’t know how to stop. He brings his free hand up so he can cup Yusuf’s cheek in his palm, hold him like he is something glorious, appreciate him like he deserves to be appreciated. “I have never in my life met anyone who shines as brightly as you.”</p>
  <p>And it’s the truth. Nicolò has spent most of his life drowning on dry land, so long that he no longer knows how to breathe, no longer remembers the feeling of air in his chest. He’s been so lost, so lonely, wandering through life aimlessly and desperately searching for a bigger meaning. He never found a place in his hometown, and the church led him further astray than he ever would’ve wanted. Yet now he may have found his purpose. </p>
  <p>Yusuf makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and leans forward until their foreheads rest together. He closes his eyes, and carefully places a warm palm on Nicolò’s shoulder, mindful of his reactions. When that doesn’t spook Nicolò away, he brings his other hand to Nicolò’s hip, gripping onto him as if he needs that to ground them both. </p>
  <p>Nicolò soaks up the warmth of the touches like he’s starving. “Forgive me,” he whispers. “I will do better.” He knows he’ll need to explain, he’ll need to try to put his feelings, his fears and his shortcomings into words one day. He can only hope Yusuf has the patience to wait for him until he’s able to. </p>
  <p>“Oh, Nicolò,” Yusuf sighs. </p>
  <p>And when Yusuf kisses him, Nicolò finally remembers how to breathe.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Several hours on the train and another ferry ride later they get a cheap car, and it’s a testament to how tired Andy is that she doesn’t even try to protest when Nile takes the wheel. Less than half an hour later Andy is fast asleep in the backseat, leaning against Joe’s shoulder, and Joe doesn’t seem to be much further from sleep either.<p>Somehow, Nicky manages to stay awake for the entire five-hour ride and keep Nile company, as well as directions. It’s an easy route, one that he still remembers despite not being here for decades now. There’s not much traffic, as they drive through the night, making only one stop for groceries, and the sun is creating an orange glow in the horizon when they finally reach their destination. </p>
<p>The safehouse is an old farm, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, surrounded by forests and fields, a river running past it a little further down the hill. They grab their meager belongings and head straight inside, only taking the time to drag out some mattresses from the beds into the large combined kitchen-and-living area. There are enough bedrooms for everyone, but they’re not about to get that far from one another, not just yet, not when the wounds are still so fresh. </p>
<p>When Nicky blinks his eyes open he has no idea how much time has passed. His head feels heavy, like it’s stuffed full of cotton, and his mouth tastes like cat shit. It takes a moment for him to even orient himself enough to figure out where he is, before he recognizes the bright yellow curtains that Joe had insisted on almost half a century earlier when they’d spent a few weeks here, just the two of them. </p>
<p>Smiling slightly Nicky allows himself a moment, leans backwards into the warm embrace that he can always count on to be there. Joe’s arm is thrown over his waist, his nose tucked between Nicky’s shoulder and the mattress, and he’s making soft snoring sounds in his sleep. Already from his breathing Nicky can tell how exhausted he is, knows that nothing short of a bomb can wake him up right now.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I’ve slept this long since the thirteenth century.” Andy’s voice is soft, barely audible. When Nicky tilts his head she smiles at him though, reaches down from where she’s sprawled on the couch so she can brush her fingers through his hair. “You hungry?”</p>
<p>It’s as if the question summons the hunger, as Nicky’s stomach grumbles as if on cue. Carefully he extracts himself from the warm embrace, even as the cool air in the room makes him shiver. “Where’s Nile?” he asks, as he notices her mattress is abandoned on the other side of Joe, the covers in a haphazard pile at the foot of it. </p>
<p>“She went to get some firewood,” Andy supplies, “like, two minutes ago. Wouldn’t let me get up for it.” She says it with a grumble, trying to sound like she’s mad about it, but Nicky has known her for long enough to see the fondness sparkling in her eyes as she adds, “so goddamn stubborn, that one.”</p>
<p>“Good,” Nicky says, his heart skipping a little as it makes Andy laugh, short and throaty. </p>
<p>Nicky makes quick work of brushing his teeth, already feeling a little better afterwards, and sets out to get them something to eat before they all starve to death, as nonpermanent as it’d be. He’s halfway through chopping the ingredients when Nile reappears, carrying an impressive heap of firewood she sets down as silently as she can next to the wood burning stove. Which is to say, not very silently at all, and finally Joe stirs awake. </p>
<p>He sits up, his hair pressed flat against his head on one side and sticking up to every single direction possible on the other, and he looks so sleepily adorable that Nicky almost chops his own fingertip off. Only almost, though, and he recovers so quickly no one notices his slip, save for maybe Joe who looks at him so amusedly that he probably at least guessed what was going on. “Anything I can help with?” Joe croaks out, the sleepiness still evident in his voice, too.</p>
<p>“You could light the fire,” Nile suggests before anyone else manages to say a thing. “I’m going to get some more firewood. It’s… kind of humid in here?” It’s not exactly cold, but since the house has been empty for so long it feels chilly in there, too much humidity in the air, and it would definitely be a good idea to not only cook with the fire but maybe utilize the fireplaces in the bedrooms, too. </p>
<p>“Your wish is my command,” Joe agrees immediately, pushing himself upright. As he steps next to the stove he doesn’t immediately get to work, but easily slips one arm around Nicky’s waist and presses his nose against his neck. He takes one, two, three deep breaths and Nicky stays still to allow him, knows what his love needs right now to center himself. </p>
<p>When Joe lifts his head and aims for a kiss Nicky dodges it, laughing as Joe whines and presses his nose against his cheek. “Brush your teeth,” Nicky says, aiming for strict but landing somewhere between fond and absolutely smitten, as per usual. “And we do need the fire if we want to eat sometime this century.”</p>
<p>“We could just eat it raw,” Andy pipes up from the couch, and when she gets unimpressed looks she only arches an eyebrow. “Don’t try to pretend like you haven’t eaten more disgusting things in your lives.”</p>
<p>“There’s a difference, <i>Andromache</i>,” Nicky says, emphasizing her full name in a way that makes the corner of her mouth tick up in an amused half-smile, “between doing what you need to survive and being an impatient <i>child</i>.” He steps to the side as Joe nudges him, and allows Joe to crouch down next to the oven to coax the flames alive within the fire box. He pats Joe’s shoulder in thanks as soon as it’s done, and they trade places so that Nicky can finally pull out the frying pan and get to it.</p>
<p>Joe disappears, probably to dutifully brush his teeth and give Nile a hand, and it leaves Andy and Nicky together for a moment. Andy groans as she burrows further under her blanket, stretching her long legs. “Can you season mine with painkillers?” </p>
<p>It takes Nicky by surprise. Andy being mortal is still something he’s trying to wrap his mind around, and he suspects it’ll take him months, if not years, to actually properly internalize it and accept it. Yet what’s even more surprising is the way she actually admits that she’s hurting, and asks for help even in such an indirect way. </p>
<p>One glance at the frying pan confirms their food is in no danger and Nicky crosses the room to their bags, rummaging through the one with the quite extensive med-kit that Copley had secured for them before they left the country. For now, he only grabs the bottle of ibuprofen, popping out two pills and offering them to Andy with a glass of water. “The pipes are rusted,” he says, apologetic despite knowing she probably doesn’t care, “so it tastes bad.”</p>
<p>Andy only arches an eyebrow at that, downing the pills and all of the water, without as much as a grimace.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p><br/>
It’s a clear night, the stars so bright up above it almost feels like they might fall right out of the sky any second now. Most of the ship’s crew and passengers are already sleeping, leaving a crass contrast to the way during the day the ship seems to be bustling with life. The four of them aren’t the only people on deck but the few others are so focused on their tasks that they’re not paying them any mind. </p>
  <p>“Tell me about the stars,” Quynh says as she sprawls onto the deck on her back, Andromache by her side. They’re staring up at the dark night sky, as are Yusuf and Nicolò, who are sitting by the side boards of the ship, only a couple of steps away. </p>
  <p>It isn’t clear who Quynh is addressing, but it’s Andromache who speaks up first, her grin audible in her voice as she begins in a mock-theatrical storyteller’s voice. “There was this <i>great warrior </i>everyone <i>feared</i>,” she starts, pompously if anything, “one that was envied even by the gods themselves, one who got sent up into the sky as a punishment for being too powerful. They called her Andromache.”</p>
  <p>Quynh’s laughter rings through the still night air, sudden and bright. “Oh so this is one of <i>those </i>stories?” she asks, reaching out to nudge Andromache with her foot. </p>
  <p>“You mean <i>true </i>ones?” Andromache counters immediately, not even attempting to move away. </p>
  <p>“I will not listen to this,” Quynh says, huffing even though there’s no way she could pretend she’s annoyed even if she wanted to. They’re all way too relaxed, enjoying the moment and the companionable banter. “Nicolò?” she calls. “Would you tell us a story? One that does not star <i>Andromache the warrior everyone feared</i>.” She probably tries to make it sound mocking. It kind of sounds just fond.</p>
  <p>Nicolò hums a little, considering. “You already know all of them,” he tries, “I do not think there’s a single myth I know I haven’t recounted for you.”</p>
  <p>“Then tell them again,” Andromache says, matter-of-fact.</p>
  <p>Quynh makes a sound in the back of her throat, echoing her, “yes tell them again.”</p>
  <p>The last straw to break Nicolò’s resolve is the way Yusuf looks at him, lets his mouth curve into a soft smile, and agrees, “tell them again.”</p>
  <p>So Nicolò tells them. He scours his memory for the vast collection of myths and legends he’s memorized, trying to find even one he hasn’t yet shared. These used to be stories he collected in secret, that he was ashamed of, because were those not proof of how his mind strayed away from his faith? Stories he soaked up like a sponge, ones he couldn’t get enough of, ones he’d stop whatever he was doing for, only to hear yet another version of the story behind a constellation. </p>
  <p>Now what used to be a shameful secret finally turns into something he can share with the people he loves. With his family. And he talks and talks and talks until Yusuf is nodding off next to him, his head falling onto Nicolò’s shoulder. He’s fast asleep for at least half of the last story, his breath hot against Nicolò’s skin, his curls tickling his neck. Nicolò sort of trails off before he’s entirely done recounting the myth, but it’s not like anyone minds.</p>
  <p>“Perhaps we will leave the ending for tomorrow,” Quynh suggests, amusement dancing in her tone as she peeks at them from Andromache’s other side. Her eyes are sparkling, her grin wicked in the way that means she’s up to something, but then something in her expression softens as she changes her mind. “Sleep well.”</p>
  <p>Gracefully she gets up in one fluid motion, sure-footed in every situation, and offers her hand to Andromache, who grabs it although she could very well get onto her feet on her own. As they head off, Yusuf stirs against Nicolò’s shoulder, mumbling something incoherent before he pulls back enough so he can squint at him from sleepy eyes. </p>
  <p>“They went to sleep,” Nicolò answers the unasked question. “More stories tomorrow.”</p>
  <p>Yusuf smiles sleepily and Nicolò’s heart aches with it. “I am sorry I almost fell asleep,” Yusuf says, holding his eyes closed for a beat longer with the next blink, as if he can’t decide whether he’s trying to wake up or fall back asleep right then and there. </p>
  <p><i>Almost</i>? Nicolò wants to ask but he doesn’t. Instead he leans in and presses his forehead against Yusuf’s, his heart skipping at the way he’s met halfway. “You have heard every story I know,” he says instead, voice a mere whisper in the night air, “several times over.”</p>
  <p>“And I want to hear them a thousand times more,” Yusuf answers, and even as sleepy as he is, the words are full of fire, full of the kind of conviction that is impossible to take for granted. All he has to do is lift his chin and his lips brush over Nicolò’s, in a promise of a kiss. He makes himself pull back a second later, even if the only witness to their moment is the nightly sky full of twinkling stars. </p>
  <p>And Nicolò knows they should get some sleep, that they shouldn’t sit there on the deck for the entire night. He knows the sensible thing to do would be to make himself move, but he can’t bring himself to it. Instead he blindly fumbles for Yusuf’s hand, carefully lacing their fingers together. “Can we stay here a moment longer?” It’s silly, he has no reason for it, but he still holds his breath as he waits for an answer. </p>
  <p>Yusuf shifts even closer, until they’re pressed close from shoulder to ankle, their hands joined and resting against Yusuf’s thigh. Nicolò gives Yusuf’s hand a squeeze as a <i>thank you </i>as he relaxes and tilts his head back. He watches the stars, traces the constellations with his gaze, the way he’s done for over two centuries now. There’s no other sound but the gentle waves hitting the hull of the ship, the night silent around them.</p>
  <p>Yusuf brings Nicolò’s hand up and presses a kiss onto his knuckles. Nicolò’s heart sings.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The backyard is basically a meadow, stretching into a patch of forest, overgrown and neglected, no one there for decades to maintain it properly. It’s all slowly coming to life after the winter, patches of snow between the trees coexisting peacefully with the spring flowers stubbornly demanding it’s their time now. They are truly in the middle of nowhere, no other houses in sight, and for now that is for the best.<p>Somehow Nicky finds himself wandering through the forest to the wide river running almost lazily through the landscape. The riverbank is rocky, but Nicky moves carefully, not slipping even once. He finds a big, flat rock to sit on, and before he even thinks it through he’s unlacing his shoes and pulling off his socks. </p>
<p>The water is almost too cold and Nicky curls his toes as his joints ache with it. He doesn’t move, though, but shifts until his feet are immersed, the lazy waves lapping at his calves. Water has always been his element, he’s always been calmed by it and found it soothing. </p>
<p>“So this is where you disappeared to.”</p>
<p>They may not have known each other for more than a couple of weeks by now, but Nicky has no trouble recognizing Nile’s voice. What does bother him though is that she managed to so easily sneak up on him, although usually he is vigilant to a fault. He voices none of that out loud though, but only tilts his head enough to be able to steal a glance at her. “I didn’t make a secret of it,” he says, offering a faint smile.</p>
<p>Nile mirrors it, something soft in her eyes, and slowly she approaches him. He shifts a little, making room for her on the flat rock he’s sitting on, and she takes the offered space wordlessly. She sits so close their shoulders are brushing, but instead of dipping her own feet into the cold water she pulls her legs close to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She’s shivering slightly even with her jacket on, but she says nothing of it.</p>
<p>For a long moment they keep gazing over the stretch of water, into the thick forest on the other side of it, or along the gradual curve of the river. There’s only the sound of water, wind rustling the trees, and an occasional sound of movement from the undergrowth. Clouds keep gathering overhead, threatening to fall rain on them, but for now it’s only grey and bleak, like the whole world is muted around them. </p>
<p>“It’s nice here,” Nile offers after a while. “Very… different.” She shrugs, and although Nicky doesn’t see it, he feels the movement against his shoulder. “I’m so used to the …you know. Traffic and people and never having an actually completely silent moment. I used to think I hated silence.” She stops for a moment, as if she’s considering it, before she adds, “I don’t. It’s nice.”</p>
<p>Slowly Nicky nods. It’s the easiest thing to meet her halfway, to reach out and return the favor. “My parents had a farm,” he says softly. He doesn’t actually remember the place anymore. He tries to, the best he can, but it blends together with the hundreds of farmhouses he’s seen since, the images flitting from one version to another within the fraction of a second so he can never grasp anything solid. “I used to sneak out to see the water.”</p>
<p>“So you’ve always liked the peace and quiet,” Nile more says than asks, gentle amusement in her voice. </p>
<p>Nicky closes his eyes for a moment, fights back the one thing he does remember from his childhood. It leaves the backs of his thighs aching as if he’d been struck again, the phantom pain from the cane from almost a millennium ago frustrating him. Why has he forgotten what his mother’s smile looked like, but remembers the way his father raised him? “It was better than the alternative,” he says, barely audibly. </p>
<p>There’s a stretch of silence during which neither of them speaks, until Nile moves so she can bump her shoulder against Nicky’s. “You know, you don’t need to answer me if I ask something stupid. Or if I cross a line. We’re stuck together now but that doesn’t mean you owe me your every thought.”</p>
<p>The words draw a genuine smile from Nicky and he tilts his head, meeting her eyes straight. “I know,” he says. He reaches out and gently laces his fingers around her forearm, giving it an affirming squeeze. “It was a long time ago. I’ve forgotten more than I remember.” He looks forward again, across the river. “I was the youngest of eleven children. After a fever went through the area, there were only three of us left. My father…” He trails off, unsure of which words to choose for something that is barely a vague recollection in his mind. “He was unhappy that the disease didn’t spare his firstborn instead.”</p>
<p>Nile looks downright <i>disgusted</i>. “That isn’t your fault!”</p>
<p>“I know,” Nicky says, and he does. He isn’t sure if he ever <i>truly </i>believed in his guilt in this, but whatever mangled version of it his father had beaten into him, Joe had gently and carefully untangled from his heart centuries ago. “I barely even remember him anymore. But I do remember spending every possible moment outside, out of his way. Until my mother passed and I was sent away.”</p>
<p>At that, Nile seems to relax somewhat, but she still looks wary, like she isn’t certain if she’s going to let that disgust go so soon. “Sent where?”</p>
<p>“To a monastery,” Nicky replies easily. “Did I tell you how I very nearly became a monk?” He flashes Nile a grin over his shoulder and it startles a laugh out of her, making him count it an immediate success. The mood shifts again, something easy passing between them, and slowly Nicky recounts everything he can remember from that early part of his life. It’s choppy and vague in parts, and he might make up some details to keep it coherent, but it’s not like Nile minds.</p>
<p>Nicky keeps swinging his feet in the water, Nile’s shoulder warm against his own, and only after the first fat raindrops fall from the clouds they scramble up and head back towards the house.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p><br/>
Nicolò’s lungs are burning. Every single breath he takes feels worse than the one before, but that isn’t enough to make him stop. He runs, runs as fast as his short legs will carry him, runs until he can’t hear his father’s yelling even in the distance any longer. There’ll be hell to pay for disappearing like this, later, but right at this second he can think of nothing else but getting away. His feet slip on the wet ground, once so badly that he falls forward and has to catch himself with his hands. Little sharp stones dig into the meat of his palms, but he barely notices.</p>
  <p>He has to keep running.</p>
  <p>There’s a place he often goes, an abandoned house that is barely standing any longer. It’s overgrown with vines and moss, as if nature has been slowly reclaiming it after people no longer wanted it. For once Nicolò doesn’t hate that he’s so small, because it means he can crawl into the space between the flowers, press his back against the stone wall and pretend like he doesn’t exist. He knows it’s unlikely his father will follow him this far, he probably gave up on the pursuit long ago. But he isn’t going to take any chances.</p>
  <p>Finally Nicolò lets himself catch his breath. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, rests it against the wall, and wills himself not to cry. He can’t cry, it makes too much noise, and no matter what he cannot afford to be found out. This is his own secret hiding place, no one else’s. </p>
  <p>When breathing doesn’t burn quite so much anymore, Nicolò burrows further into his hideout, shaking droplets of water off the branches surrounding him, but he doesn’t notice the way they soak into his shirt. He’s holding his breath, eyes wide, and every time he thinks he hears his father’s voice in the distance it makes him flinch. It’s in his head, it’s in his mind, but <i>what if it isn’t</i>?</p>
  <p>Nicolò pulls his skinny legs against his chest, the backs of his thighs aching. One of these days he will burn his father’s cane, he’ll throw it into the fire and watch it turn into ash, even if he knows that will enrage his father like nothing else. Instinctively he curls into a ball, makes himself as small as he can, shelters himself as much from the cold as he does from the thought of his father’s rage.</p>
  <p>He doesn’t let himself think about the unhappy twist of his mother’s mouth, her silent approval of his father’s anger, or the way she looks at him as if she agrees. He deserves all of this. He deserves worse than this. He’s still alive while so many others aren’t.</p>
  <p>Angrily Nicolò wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. He focuses on the scent of rain, on the droplets of water hanging heavily on the blades of grass. He curls his toes and buries them against the cold ground, ignores the faint ache it sends through his joints. </p>
  <p>At least for these few moments, he has peace. He has solitude.</p>
  <p>He closes his eyes and breathes.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“I’m going to contact Copley.”<p>Andy’s words are met with utter silence, but three pairs of eyes are immediately directed at her. It’s not a surprise, exactly, in the sense that they’ve all been expecting this and known that it’s coming, sooner or later. Nicky had hoped for later, but he feels like he should’ve known better, after all these centuries. Slowly he finishes chewing the mouthful of pasta, and as much as he stalls he’s still the first one to speak up. “It’s only been a few weeks,” he starts, and that’s as far as he gets.</p>
<p>“It’s been three weeks and two days and I’m <i>done </i>with this,” Andy snaps, her fork clattering onto the plate as she drops it. “I’m done sitting around and waiting and being fucking <i>useless</i>.” She’s refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, but instead pushes her hand into her hair, resting her forehead on her palm as she resolutely stares down at the table.</p>
<p>“Boss,” Joe starts, softly, “there is no universe in which you could be useless.” He packs so much warmth into his voice that it immediately makes Nicky’s heart swell with affection, and it even somehow coaxes a hint of a smile from Andy. </p>
<p>Something in Nicky aches to reach out for Andy but he knows a touch wouldn’t be welcomed when she feels caged in, knows it would comfort him more than her right at this moment, and he balls his fists tightly to keep a hold of himself. “You’re not immortal anymore,” he says, as gently as he knows how, “you need time to heal.”</p>
<p>“What happened to it being my time, hm?” Andy says, finally meeting Nicky’s eyes straight. It’s as if she’s issuing a challenge, daring him to take back his words from before, the words he’s lived by and believed in for so long. </p>
<p>Nicky already opens his mouth, before he lets it snap shut again. He could explain to her how it’s not the same. How losing one’s immortality doesn’t need to mean that what’s left of life isn’t worth cherishing. How not healing anymore shouldn’t encourage recklessness. How her life is worth so much to each and every one of them. </p>
<p>He won’t. She knows all that. She knows it, but she’s frustrated. She hasn’t needed to heal a wound for longer than mere minutes in literal millennia. And if Nicky barely remembers how it felt to be cut and not heal immediately, for Andy it must be a thousand times worse.</p>
<p>So Nicky sits back, lets his hands drop on his lap as he leans against the wall behind himself. Under the table Joe reaches for his hand, warm fingers curling around his wrist, and there are no words in existence to describe how much that grounds him. </p>
<p>“So,” Andy says, firmly, as if she’s won, “I’m going to contact Copley. We’re going to be useful, finally. Stop this nonsense and—”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Again there’s silence, but this time everyone’s staring at Nile as if she’s grown two heads all of a sudden. She lifts her chin high, visibly steeling herself, but then repeats, “No.” She turns her gaze on Andy. “Like it or not, you’re mortal now. You’re going to bleed and you’re going to hurt, and you are going to <i>heal</i>.” She speaks clearly, as if she’s making sure every single word has time to compute. “And we are not going anywhere until there’s not an extra hole in you.”</p>
<p>There’s something bewildered in the way Andy is staring at her, but she’s not arguing. </p>
<p>No one is, and silence follows the words until Nile herself is the one who goes on. “It’s the smart thing to do. You said it yourself, we have a purpose. And that purpose is <i>not </i>getting killed because of a little impatience.”</p>
<p>Andy is swayed, clearly, as the steely set of her jaw relaxes slightly and the tense lines of her shoulders ease up. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there, and Nicky knows someone should take the offered opening. “Besides,” he begins but immediately pauses, and as if on cue Joe tightens his hold on his wrist. It’s the only point of contact between them, but it immediately stabilizes Nicky. “You are not the only one who isn’t ready yet.”</p>
<p>“Nicky,” Andy says, worlds softer than her tone just minutes earlier. For a long moment she looks at him, before turning to Joe as if she’s asking him if he agrees. They have an entire conversation without words, after which Andy slowly nods. “Alright. We’ll stay here for as long as it’s safe. For as long as it takes for…” She trails off, only vaguely gesturing towards her midsection. </p>
<p>Then she picks up her fork, and the conversation is over. </p>
<p>After dinner Andy disappears outside without a word. Joe looks at Nicky, and right after getting a confirming nod he follows her. Nicky begins clearing the table, and he almost forgets that he isn’t alone before suddenly Nile is right there, grabbing the pile of plates from his hands to bring it to the sink. “This isn’t over, is it,” she says more than asks, while filling the sink with as hot water as they get from the tap. </p>
<p>For a second Nicky considers reassuring her with platitudes, then decides she’s worth more than that. “I give it two weeks, at most.” He steps next to her, grabbing the first plate to rinse as soon as she’s done washing it. “It’s a big change, for her. For all of us.” </p>
<p>Nile hums in agreement, and hands him another plate. </p>
<p>Neither of them says a word, not until all of the dishes are done, the leftovers neatly packed away in the small fridge in the pantry. Nile seems like she needs the silence, like she’s mulling something over in her mind, so Nicky lets her. Only when he takes a seat next to the window she turns to him, determination written all over her features. “I am not going to let her hurt herself.”</p>
<p>There’s no preparing Nicky for the surge of affection that sends through him. He’s certain that the way he’s looking at her is not only fond but filled with awe, the immense gratitude he feels written in his eyes. She has been with them only for <i>weeks</i>, and already she is doing a better job in looking out for Andy than most people she’s ever met. “None of us are,” he says, softly, and when he smiles at her she mirrors it, tentative at first but genuinely relaxing into it within seconds. </p>
<p>“Good,” Nile says, her smile widening a notch, “because we’ve got no chance in hell unless we gang up on her.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p><br/>
“Andromache, <i>please</i>.” Yusuf’s words fall on deaf ears, not even acknowledged, as if he didn’t speak up at all. He’s been trying to plead with her for the better part of the day, trying to convince her that she needs to slow down and give herself the time to rest after these decades of almost literally working herself to death in her attempts to do the impossible. </p>
  <p>To give herself the time to mourn. </p>
  <p>Ever since they found Andromache, half mad with grief, practically throwing herself into the ocean to get to Quynh, she’s been relentless in her pursuit. She’s never given herself the chance to deal with the loss, not when she’s refused to even acknowledge the loss to begin with. Until the morning she shows up with her hair cropped short, with new wild determination to her as she announces they’re leaving. </p>
  <p>Even now, Nicolò doesn’t know what to feel. There’s relief that she’s finally relented and seen the futility of their search. There’s guilt, immediately on the heels of the relief, for feeling it in the first place. And there’s grief, the same grief none of them has had the chance to deal with during their desperate quest, the grief that still hits with the same force as it did the moment they found out Quynh was gone.</p>
  <p>Andromache’s eyes are dull and void of life, and Nicolò thinks anything would be preferable to that. A sentiment he knows Yusuf shares, but Yusuf is the only one strong enough to challenge Andromache on it at this time. “We aren’t mercenaries, we cannot just throw ourselves into violence to forget,” Yusuf says, and Nicolò loves him something fierce, “We’ll stay here, and—”</p>
  <p>“And <i>what</i>!?” Andromache snaps, whirling around so fast that before either of them manages to react she has her blade up against Yusuf’s throat, pressed so close it’s only a hair’s breadth from cutting into the smooth skin. There’s fire in her eyes, and Nicolò thinks that no, this is not better, he was wrong, none of this is better. “What is it that you’re suggesting? That we spend a century or two hiding away from the world?”</p>
  <p>“That is not—” Yusuf tries, his eyes flicking towards Nicolò, before Andromache takes a step closer to him and effectively shuts him up. He backs up half a step, until his back hits the wall, and she follows him, her sword never wavering. </p>
  <p>Nicolò wants nothing more than to throw himself between the two, to shield Yusuf with his own body and ensure nothing happens to him. Yet at the same time he <i>needs </i>to trust Andromache, needs to believe that she’d never intentionally hurt Yusuf like this. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. </p>
  <p>“That is not what you mean?” Andromache sneers, unblinking. “I am <i>done</i>. I am done hiding away from the world and pretending like it doesn’t exist. So if you want to sit around reciting poetry, feel free. Spend your nights watching the stars with the love of your <i>damned </i>life.” She glances at Nicolò, then, her eyes dark with rage. “Some of us do not have that luxury.”</p>
  <p>Abruptly she pulls back, lets her arm fall to her side, heedless of the sword she’s holding. She has her chin held up high, her teeth ground together so tight there’s a tick to her jaw. Every single fiber of her being seems tense, close to snapping, and to anyone who doesn’t know her it’d look like pure unadulterated rage, unhinged anger at the world.</p>
  <p>Both Nicolò and Yusuf know it is neither. It is sheer grief.</p>
  <p>“I’m leaving at dawn,” Andromache says. Her voice cracks. She ignores it, spinning around on her heels. “Be ready if you want to come along. I don’t care either way.”</p>
  <p>There’s silence in her wake, and for a long moment it’s as if time has frozen in place. </p>
  <p>It’s Nicolò who moves first, unable to stop himself, as he needs to go over and try to do anything in his power to soothe the wide-eyed suffering written all over Yusuf’s face. In two quick steps he’s close to him, his hand shaking as he brings it up and runs his fingertips over the unmarked skin of Yusuf’s throat. Logically he knows there’s nothing there, but he needs this, his already rattled mind finding some strange solace. </p>
  <p>“She is so full of anger. All that grief…” Yusuf says, voice small. His eyes are closed but he’s canting forward, as if he’s unconsciously curling towards Nicolò even now, trying to find whatever comfort he can. “Sometimes I fear her fury will—” his voice chokes off, the words refusing to come.</p>
  <p>Careful, Nicolò places a palm on Yusuf’s side, and as it isn’t shaken off he doesn’t stop there. As gentle as he can manage, he pulls Yusuf against himself, envelopes him in his arms as if he can somehow with that block away the rest of the world. He cannot focus on his own heartbreak, not now, he isn’t equipped to deal with it. What he can do is give whatever little strength he has to Yusuf and hope it makes a difference.</p>
  <p>He hopes he can give back at least a fraction of what he’s received during their years together. “She’s hurt,” he says, gently, “We all are, but for her, the world looks even darker.”</p>
  <p>It’s as if all air is punched out of Yusuf, and he collapses against Nicolò like a puppet with its strings cut. He wraps his arms around Nicolò in turn, holds on to him so tight it’s almost a touch painful, and buries his face into Nicolò’s neck. “We are a living reminder of what she has lost,” he says, words muffled into Nicolò’s skin. “And we failed her. We failed both of them.”</p>
  <p>It sends a sting through Nicolò’s heart, the pain slashing through him as if it was an actual dagger that was shoved deep into his chest. He clutches on to Yusuf tighter, tries to find the words that could ease his burden. There are none. Not when he’s suffocating in the same guilt himself. </p>
  <p>Nicolò takes a deep breath, then another, and his voice carries eerily steadily as he finally manages to speak. “We will be there for her. Even if it takes a century, a millennium, we will be there for her.” He bites on his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, even if the wound heals immediately. “It will get better.”</p>
  <p>He feels Yusuf nod against his neck, feels the long exhale that seems almost relieved. Some of the tension bleeds off Yusuf’s shoulders and he’s breathing a little easier, a little deeper. Eventually he pulls back, and makes a valiant attempt at a smile as soon as their eyes meet. “We will get through this,” he echoes the sentiment, nodding slowly, as if to convince himself as well. </p>
  <p>Nicolò returns the smile, even if it feels like there are shards of glass in his lungs that grate against his heart with every single inhale. “Maybe we should…” He doesn’t know how to finish the thought, doesn’t know how to put it into words when he doesn’t <i>want to</i>, so he only makes a vague gesture between the two of them. “Not to make it harder for her.” </p>
  <p>“No,” Yusuf answers immediately. “I thought about it, I promise you. I’ve stayed up countless nights thinking about it. And the answer is still no.” He smiles and although it’s sad there’s so much warmth in it that Nicolò feels like a flower turning instinctively towards the sun. The smile widens ever so slightly as he brings a hand up to cup Nicolò’s jaw in his palm. “I will not apologize for what we have. And I believe, in the end, it isn’t what she wants either.”</p>
  <p>Nicolò isn’t certain if he believes it but he wants to, with every single part of him. He needs to, because one fourth of their family has been torn off and it’s like losing a limb, something that feels impossible to get used to when the wound is still fresh. They have spent a lifetime looking for Quynh and it still doesn’t feel like enough, horribly inadequate in the face of the enormity of their loss. </p>
  <p>They’re all at their breaking point. In more ways than one. And although walking away is the last thing they want to do, there are hardly any options in this place and time. </p>
  <p>So Nicolò inhales, focuses on the air filling his lungs. Focuses on the warm palm against his face, on those bright, beautiful eyes gazing straight into his own. And somewhere, in the depth of his chest, there’s a curl of hope. “I do not know what I would do without you,” he confesses, the words tumbling out of him. </p>
  <p>Yusuf brushes his thumb over Nicolò’s cheek, before tilting his head forward to rest their foreheads together. “Every day, I am grateful we don’t need to find out.” </p>
  <p>They spend the night drawing as much strength from one another as they possibly can. At dawn Andromache reappears, takes one glance at their packed belongings, and nods approvingly. “Let’s go,” is all she says, but the relief is impossible to miss, her posture less weighed down as she realizes they’re coming with her.</p>
  <p>Yusuf bumps his shoulder against Nicolò’s in silent camaraderie, and together they follow.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>After a month of sleeping close together in the living area, Andy wordlessly moves into one of the small bedrooms. Suddenly the couch she’d been using as her bed is empty, and whatever few belongings she has have migrated into the next room. She doesn’t bring up calling Copley again. Not beyond the regular check-ups that have been scheduled anyway.<p>She also leaves the door open a crack, and doesn’t mock the others for staying up half the night listening to her breathe in the next room. </p>
<p>The following day Nile is the first one to follow the example. There’s another bedroom right beyond the first one, and she claims it as her own, even rearranging the furniture with Joe’s enthusiastic help. <i>What is the point of anything</i>, Joe whispers to Nicky when they’re fixing dinner, <i>if she doesn’t feel at home here, too</i>? As if Nicky would ever disagree with that. He doesn’t comment, but after dinner he goes to pick up the wood anemones he saw blooming behind the storehouse outside. He puts them in a mug, as they don’t have a proper vase for them, and leaves them on the windowsill in Nile’s room. </p>
<p>In the morning Nile emerges with one of them tucked into her braid over her ear, and Nicky feels a splash of warmth in his chest. </p>
<p>There’s a third bedroom on the other side of the house, separated from the others by the living room and a small hallway. Nicky likes it the best, because it’s separate enough that it feels like they’re in a world of their own, in the nights. There’s a flash of shame for relishing that, until he reminds himself that Andy is more than capable of taking care of herself three rooms away, and has Nile right next to her anyway. </p>
<p>The only downside to the room is that one has to go through it to the bathroom to wash up. It’s not like either of Joe or Nicky minds – Joe sleeps so tight Nile tiptoeing through the room doesn’t even wake him, and Nicky has never been fussy about being woken up – but <i>Nile </i>does. “I don’t want to intrude,” she says, clutching her towel like it somehow gives her the words she needs, “you guys deserve your privacy, too.”</p>
<p>“Nile,” Nicky begins, and doesn’t get any further before Joe continues for him, “we have lived for almost a millennium. Trust me, you walking through this room is in no way a violation of our privacy. To even have a room for ourselves is not something we take for granted.” </p>
<p>Nicky smiles at the way Nile relaxes ever so slightly. “When I was a child, we had one single bedroom for all eleven of us,” he says, and when Nile’s smile widens he adds, “and don’t think we all had beds, either. It was more a pile of children tucked away in a corner.” He doesn’t look at Joe but he’s intensely aware of the eyes on him, of the surprise practically radiating from Joe. His childhood isn’t a topic he enjoys revisiting, Joe knows that better than anyone.</p>
<p>That finally makes Nile laugh. “Got it, got it. You’ve made your point.” She moves towards the bathroom, but stops before she goes through the door. “I will still knock, though. You may not have any qualms about nudity but I don’t need to see either of you naked.” She arches an eyebrow, as if she’s admonishing them, but the way her lips quirk up in a smile would betray her even if the humor in her voice didn’t. </p>
<p>Joe laughs. “<i>Go</i>,” he says and waves his hand, “before I’ll start stripping to make you.”</p>
<p>Within a minute the shower is running behind the wall, with its abysmal pressure and water that never seems to be the perfect temperature, it’s always either too hot or too cold. The water is pumped from a well, and Nicky knows they’re lucky to even have a shower, but he spares a thought at hoping that Nile isn’t too disappointed. Somehow his mind makes a leap from that to his childhood home, to cold water in a small basin, to how icy it felt against a tear hot face.</p>
<p>As if sensing Nicky’s thoughts, Joe slips behind him, pressing a chin on his shoulder as he sneaks an arm around his waist. “Have you and Nile been trading stories?” he asks softly, so achingly gently. Nicky has no other choice but to sink back into the embrace, and as he tilts his head back Joe immediately bumps their foreheads together.</p>
<p>“I think it helps her,” Nicky admits silently, “to see us as people. To know we were born, and grew up, just like she did.”</p>
<p>“Not just like she did, I hope,” Joe says, and it is a question. </p>
<p>Nicky doesn’t even try to fight the warmth that dwells in his heart, the overwhelming love he feels for this man. How it never diminishes even after centuries he has no idea, but if anything, it grows even more intense somewhere deep in his bones. “No,” he reassures, “her mother sounds wonderful. Much like yours.” He opens his eyes, searches for Joe’s gaze, and continues, “her brother, too. Much like yours.”</p>
<p>Once upon a time the mention of his family might’ve made Joe’s eyes go sad, might’ve surrounded him with an air of melancholy. Now though, he finds joy in the memories, finds solace in how he gets to share the stories of the first chapter of his life and Nicky knows each and every one of them. “Do you think she would like to hear about them?” Joe asks, open and vulnerable in the naked hope that shines not only in his eyes but in his voice. </p>
<p>Nicky tilts his head again, presses his nose into Joe’s beard and hides the sadness of his smile there. “One day, I think she would love to,” he says, voice barely audible, “give her time. It’s a fresh wound.” He genuinely thinks Nile will grow to love sharing childhood stories with Joe, will end up comparing experiences and finding both similarities and differences, all doused in how much love they both grew up surrounded by. </p>
<p>For now, Nicky’s vague, detached memories of his less joyful childhood are probably safer. </p>
<p>Joe’s arms tighten around Nicky and he nods, accepting the words easily. And just as easily, Nicky no longer feels the freezing water in his memories, his blood singing with the knowledge of how lucky he is to have this. Determined, he pushes back the stab of pain at the way Booker crosses his mind, forces away the flashes of needles and heart monitors and scalpels. Instead he focuses on the warmth of the embrace, on the way Joe makes every single atom of him feel appreciated, cherished, <i>alive</i>. Just by existing. </p>
<p>The shower stops running, and in wordless agreement they step away from one another. Joe goes to rummage through the closet for something for them to wear, while Nicky grabs the fluffy towels they’ve indulged in. </p>
<p>It genuinely feels, for the first time, like everything might work out in the end.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p><br/>
Slowly Nicolò brings up his hand to shield his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. He’s still left squinting, the rays reflecting from the waves of the sea, but it’s bearable enough as he wades deeper, heedless of where he steps. He barely feels the sun on his skin, or the sand underneath his bare toes, but the water lapping at his calves somehow anchors him, settles his nerves and makes him feel anchored. </p>
  <p>Sometimes his mother would bring him here, when he was little. Him and his other siblings, and she would let them play in the shallow water for a while before they had to go back to their chores. Those were the happier memories, of the times when the fever had yet to strike, had yet to take seven of his siblings forever. After that summer, they never returned here. Not even once.</p>
  <p>That doesn’t mean Nicolò never returned. It became a place only for him, a place of solitude, somewhere he could be with his thoughts and the ocean, somewhere his father’s anger and his mother’s sad eyes did not reach. </p>
  <p>Now his mother’s eyes do not even open any longer. She’s buried in the ground, taking with her what seems like the last remaining traces of Nicolò’s childhood. </p>
  <p>He looks down, the blue-green water so clear he can see the fish curiously approaching his still feet. He doesn’t dare move for the fear of scaring them away, and spends what feels like a small eternity watching, wishing he was one of them. Surely being allowed to swim away, go anywhere you wanted, would be preferable to the fate he’d been condemned to. Maybe even sinking into the water, hitting the bottom while the water fills his lungs, would be preferable to…</p>
  <p>The next moment Nicolò chastises himself. He’s lucky. He survived the fever when most of his siblings didn’t, he has a roof over his head and he never had to starve. His father did his all to raise him right, and if he grew up crooked despite that it is his own fault. His own weakness. And his mother—</p>
  <p>A flash of pain cuts through him, and angrily he kicks blindly at the sand. The little fish all go scattering around, spooked by the sudden motion, but it doesn’t make Nicolò feel any better. He feels bizarrely guilty instead, furious with himself. He clenches his hands into tight fists, nails digging into his palms. He bites the insides of his cheeks, tasting blood, as he ventures forward until the water reaches to his mid-thigh. </p>
  <p>It’s a beautiful day. The sun shines even brighter, the soft breeze carrying from the sea, but there’s ice locked deep in his heart that even the hottest sun can not melt, frost trapped in his very soul. Something in him must be broken, for everyone around him to leave. </p>
  <p>“Nicolò?” </p>
  <p>The familiar voice makes Nicolò stiffen and stop, but he doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t need to. A minute later there’s a splash of water, a frustrated huff, and when his sister speaks again she sounds annoyed more than anything. “What are you doing here?” she asks, as if she doesn’t know the answer already. “Father wants to see you before you leave.”</p>
  <p>“Where am I going?” Nicolò asks. His voice is icy, and he can’t stop it. Not although he knows it’s not her fault. “Into the sea?”</p>
  <p>“Don’t be <i>stupid</i>,” she snaps. “<i>Look </i>at me!”</p>
  <p>Reluctantly Nicolò turns around, face carefully blank as he faces her. She’s heavily pregnant with her first, her palm resting atop her belly as she stares him down. She doesn’t much care for her husband, but marrying was never about love. He’s not rich but he’s kind enough, never raises a hand against her, and most importantly got her out of the house not a single one of them wants to stay in. </p>
  <p>Not for the first time Nicolò wishes he could do the same. Marry the baker’s son, or the widowed blacksmith. Anyone. </p>
  <p>“You are sixteen,” Elena says, firmly, the crease between her eyes deepening. “And here you play in the water like a child.” She frowns as she shifts, moves her free hand to her back for support with a grimace. She mutters something under her breath but Nicolò doesn’t care enough to even try to make those words out. </p>
  <p>“Tell me,” he says.</p>
  <p>“Nico—”</p>
  <p>“<i>Tell me</i>.”</p>
  <p>She eyes him for a moment, before she lifts her jaw and squares her shoulders. “You’re going with Father Antonio. No one wants you.” She says it like it’s nothing, like it’s a fact like the sun rising in the morning or the tide coming in, like she isn’t shattering Nicolò’s entire soul with those four short words. She looks at him, as if she’s expecting an answer, but he can’t say anything, he can’t get a single sound out, much less a word. </p>
  <p>She hums disapprovingly. He wonders where things went wrong. When did they stop being children? She used to be his best friend, his confidante, his strength whenever they hid from their father together. Now all she has for him is contempt, perhaps a touch of sadness in her eyes as she eyes him once more. “You are a strange thing, Nicolò.”</p>
  <p>With that she turns around, leaving him standing in the shallow water.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>A week later Nile puts her foot down and informs the others that she’s done being coddled, and that she wants to be an useful part of the team, thank you very much. She’s well aware of her strengths, well aware of also the things she doesn’t master yet, and she seems more than ready to learn just about any skill as long as it means she gets to do something else except for lounging around all day in the middle of absolutely nowhere.<p>Somehow, they end up with archery of all things. It pulls at Nicky’s heart strings, as it is something he still associates with Quynh, her having been the best one out of them with a bow. He remembers every little thing she ever taught him, and it makes his heart ache to think she’ll never learn how much he thinks back to those times, how much he still appreciates her efforts. She’d always called Nicky her best student, sending Andy into a huffy mood, but they’d had their fun with it anyway.</p>
<p>Nile is not half bad. Nicky sets them up in the backyard, hanging up some practice targets before they get to it. The first time she shoots the arrow goes flying wide, not even close to any of the targets, but he already sees the potential in her. By the time they’ve worked on it for a few days, she has proven to be worthy of all of the trust Nicky has placed in her. </p>
<p>If he is honest with himself, the thing Nicky enjoys the most is how they work in wordless tandem by now. All he has to do is touch Nile’s shoulder softly and she corrects her posture, give her a one-word prompt and she knows how to adjust her aim, and it’s almost like they’re speaking in their own secret language. </p>
<p>The first time Joe wanders out to watch them practice, is also the first time Nile sends the arrow sailing straight into the bull’s eye. Overjoyed, she whoops, pumps her fist in the air before throwing her arms around Nicky in celebration. It’s the first time she’s hugged him and he can’t help but stiffen for a second with surprise. Not that he minds the contact, definitely not, and it doesn’t take him more than one breath to reciprocate. </p>
<p>They’re pulled back to the present by Joe’s soft scoff. “I could’ve taught you this in half the time,” he says, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips, graciously ignoring the fact that he is literally <i>the worst </i>of them with a bow. He pushes his hands into his pockets as he approaches, allowing his smile to widen. “Why does <i>he </i>get to teach you this instead of me?” </p>
<p>A quick grin ghosts over Nile’s features, and she gives a nonchalant shrug. “Because he’s the cool dad.”</p>
<p>Immediately Nicky looks, for the lack of a better word, smug. He turns towards Joe, mirth in his eyes as he arches an eyebrow and repeats. “Yes, Joe. I am the <i>cool dad</i>.”</p>
<p>All of the pretence melts off and Joe laughs like it’s the best thing he’s heard in his <i>life</i>, theatrically doubling over. If it was anyone else Nicky would suspect they were faking it but Joe never does anything in half-measures, lives life to the fullest and lets his emotions have the space they need. Nicky loves him fiercely for that. He loves Joe endlessly for so many reasons, but especially for that. </p>
<p>Finally when Joe has laughed enough he straightens, even wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. His crow’s feet look more pronounced than usual, his laugh-lines proof of how he’d lived his life ever since he’d been born. “Yes,” he agrees, the grin softening into something fond, something almost private, as he looks straight at Nicky, “yes you are.”</p>
<p>And just like that, Nicky is at loss for words. Even after almost a thousand years this man renders him speechless with only a few carefully enunciated words, and Nicky doesn’t know what to do with himself. All he can do is stand there and smile dumbly at Joe, until Nile has had enough of the silence and snorts out a laugh. </p>
<p>“It’s alright, Joe, you can teach me something too. If it helps keep your ego intact,” she tilts her head, and Nicky has to bite back a laugh as she continues. “I don’t know if I much care for poetry, though. I hear that is your specialty?”</p>
<p>For a second, Joe stares at her dumbly. To his credit, he regains his composure a lot faster than Nicky did, and it only takes a beat for him to respond. “Miss Freeman, I would like to inform you that poetry is far more useful than you give it credit for. At least,” he grins, all the pretence of offense gone, “it always gets <i>me</i> what I want.”</p>
<p>Nile allows her smile to break free. “Which is what? Him?”</p>
<p>And Nicky knows he should fire back something sharper, that he shouldn’t just smile fondly and make the stupidest heart-eyes known to man at not only Joe but also to Nile, who has proven time and time again to be a genuine blessing. “Yes,” he agrees simply, as it is the truth anyway.</p>
<p>“See?” Nile turns towards Joe. “He’s incapable of lying. This is why <i>he’s </i>the cool dad.”</p>
<p>No one has noticed Andy, who suddenly huffs out a laugh from the sidelines. “You guys do realize she’s a fully competent adult?” she asks, giving them both unimpressed stares. “I suffer enough with you both bleeding infuriating dad-vibes everywhere, I am not going to deal with it getting any worse.”</p>
<p>Nile looks more relaxed than she’s been in weeks, even if she’s still holding on to the bow tight, as if she’s anchoring herself with it. “You’re just jealous,” she says, lifting her chin and challenging Andy, even if it is softened by the way her eyes are smiling, “because Nicky is a better teacher than you are.”</p>
<p>Andy opens her mouth and closes it again, before something like sheer determination crosses over her features. “Oh, it’s <i>on</i>.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p><br/>
“No, you’re doing it wrong,” Quynh says as she already elbows Nicolò out of her way, unceremoniously taking a seat on the ground right next to him. She’s so close that their thighs are pressed together, warm even through the layers of clothes, and wherein not too long ago Nicolò would’ve leaned away he finds he enjoys the closeness. “Look how I’m doing it,” she says, nudging him again with her elbow.</p>
  <p>She’s working with the sinew with such practiced ease, her fingers quick and nimble as she twists the fibers tightly, that Nicolò can barely keep up with his eyes, much less replicate it with his own clumsy attempts. He pays attention, though, mimicking rolling the sinew between his thumbs and forefingers like she does, trying his best to commit the process in his memory. Until suddenly she’s shoving the half-finished work towards him, looking at him expectantly. “Now try again.”</p>
  <p>Obediently Nicolò takes over. His progress is much, much slower than hers, and one can clearly see how the rope she’s twined is much smoother, tighter, overall better quality. But his doesn’t unravel, it actually resembles what it’s supposed to be, and Nicolò can’t help the small, victorious grin that spreads on his lips. “Better?” he asks, eager for her approval.</p>
  <p>Quynh laughs, claps him on the back and leans against his shoulder, watching him work. “Much better. I knew you’d pick it up quick.” She sounds genuinely happy about it, even hums a little, obviously content. “Now you need to feed in new strands, or you’ll end up with the shortest bowstring in history,” she adds, nudging him a little. </p>
  <p>Nicolò does as he’s instructed, soaks the ends of the rope as they begin to harden, until they’re easy and malleable to work with again. Quynh keeps watching him like a hawk, sometimes offering a word of advice, sometimes reaching out to straighten the ends of the fibers to keep them from tangling. Even the silence surrounding them is comfortable, as they simply exist in each other’s space, nothing but the distant chirping of birds in the distance.</p>
  <p>Eventually the bowstring is long enough and Nicolò ties up the end. Quynh straightens, pulls away from him, and pats his arm a little. “Let’s string the bow and see how well you did,” she says, flashing him a grin over her shoulder as she fetches the bow he’d made earlier. It’s propped up next to the entrance of the cave – an actual cave that Andromache <i>insisted </i>they set up camp in – and she quickly grabs it and practically dances back to Nicolò. “I can’t believe you never learned to make one of these before.”</p>
  <p>As an answer, Nicolò only hums. She’s well aware that he learned to shoot with a crossbow instead of the simple recurve bow they’d built, and she’d been full of excitement when she’d realized she’d get to teach him this. Stringing a bow is something he has done before, at least, so it doesn’t take him long to loop the string and bend the bow into shape. He raises it up and shows it to Quynh, and her smile widens. “<i>Beautiful</i>,” she sighs, fierce joy in her eyes. </p>
  <p>“He is, isn’t he,” comes a voice that draws their attention, both of them tense for a second before their minds catch up. Andromache has at least half a dozen fish, which means their trip to the river was more than successful, and Yusuf has their filled waterskins slung over his shoulder. He’s smiling brightly, like the sun, and Nicolò immediately forgets the bow he’s holding, his entire world narrowing down into that smile.</p>
  <p>He only lands back to reality when Quynh nudges him with her elbow. “You know what I was referring to, Yusuf. Although who am I to disagree with you,” she says and goes as far as to wink at Nicolò. </p>
  <p>“Careful,” Yusuf says as he approaches, his steps slowing down until he comes to a halt right in front of them, “lest I think you’re trying to steal him from me.” He’s addressing Quynh but he has eyes for no one else but Nicolò, the sheer warmth in his eyes something Nicolò has no words for. He’s not equipped to handle this much adoration directed at himself, and it leaves him humbled every time. </p>
  <p>“Oh, if I wanted to do that, there’d be no <i>trying</i>,” Quynh laughs, “do not underestimate my charm.”</p>
  <p>“Leave them alone, love,” Andromache cuts in, hand on Quynh’s elbow as she steers her away. She goes easily, already grabbing some of the fish from Andromache, saying how she’ll prepare them so that they’ll be done <i>right </i>for once. They’re immediately bickering, the cadence of their voices like a comfortable blanket in its familiarity. </p>
  <p>Yusuf takes the last step to Nicolò, aligns his head in a nod towards the bow. “Will you show me?” he asks, although he knows the answer before he even speaks. “Will you teach me?” He’s so close that all he has to do is tilt his chin and he can press a soft kiss in the corner of Nicolò’s mouth. It doesn’t end there, it rarely does with them, with the way the softest touch from Yusuf still makes Nicolò’s entire existence sing in pure joy. </p>
  <p>Even when they part Yusuf presses his forehead against Nicolò’s, his eyes closed as he enjoys the moment. Nicolò reaches up with his free hand, buries his fingers into Yusuf’s curls, revels in the breathy sigh it earns him. “You should ask Quynh to teach you,” he says, softly, “she’s worlds better than I am.”</p>
  <p>“You’re the better teacher,” Yusuf argues, his smile widening. “She would agree.”</p>
  <p>Before Nicolò manages to articulate an answer of any kind, Andromache calls out for them. “Get over here and be useful for a change,” she gripes, although there is no trace of genuine anger or annoyance in her tone. </p>
  <p>Yusuf hums as he hooks his arm with Nicolò’s, unceremoniously pulling him along.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Nicky finds Joe sitting on the grass cross-legged, next to the overgrown bush of white roses, a watercolor block balanced on his knees as he’s hunched over it, examining his work. Without even making a conscious decision Nicky steers towards him, his steps slowing as he takes in the comfortingly familiar sight. How his heart still fills with so much warmth at the mere sight, he has no idea, but as always he welcomes it. Basks in it.<p>As soon as he’s close enough he sits down, mirroring Joe’s position, their knees almost touching. Joe doesn’t look up from his work, not even when he reaches to dip the brush into the glass of water next to him, focused on the long sweeps he paints onto the paper. Nicky doesn’t try to peek, knowing he’ll be the first one to see the work once Joe decides it’s time. Instead he closes his eyes and inhales, lets the scent of the roses wash through him. Joe’s humming softly, and it’s like time stops existing.</p>
<p>“Where did you lose Nile?” Joe asks after a moment of comfortable silence. </p>
<p>It takes Nicky a second to snap back to reality. “Hm?” he says, but then his mind already catches up, and he answers without further prompting. “Andy stole her away. They’re going swimming, I hear.” He reaches out and grabs the sketchpad from the ground next to Joe’s foot, idly flipping through it. He knows the question that will follow so he pre-empts it, answers before Joe gets the chance. “I wanted to see you.”</p>
<p>Joe huffs out a laugh, and finally he looks up, his eyes sparkling. “Do not tell me you haven’t memorized every single detail of me by now, after all this time,” he teases. Yet his smile immediately softens, his expression open in the way it only ever is to Nicky. As open as Joe is with his emotions, he’s never let anyone else quite this close. </p>
<p>The tiredness is evident, dark circles under his beautiful eyes, a slight downwards twitch to his mouth. They’ve both been sleeping fitfully, plagued by nightmares, but the previous night had been particularly taxing for Joe, to the point he’d barely gotten any rest. “I’m alright, I promise,” he says, infinitely soft, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to an afternoon nap, if you’d care to join me.”</p>
<p>“Anytime,” Nicky promises easily. </p>
<p>Silence falls over them again, and Joe turns back towards his work. He switches brushes, adding intricate details with the smallest one, and Nicky is careful not to disturb him. He focuses back on the sketchbook, leafing through the old ones he’s already seen to the newer pages. The first thing he sees is a page full of his own side profile, and he huffs out a laugh. There must be thousands of sketches of him out there, all outlined lovingly by Joe’s hand. </p>
<p>The next page seems to be dedicated to Andy, with the exception of a single sketch in the upper corner that’s been angrily crossed out, covered with thick pencil marks beyond recognition. Nicky’s heart falls, all of the anger and hurt returning with full force, only to morph into sadness. There’s a deeper line in the middle of the mess, so ferocious the pen has dug deep into the paper, and slowly Nicky traces that with his finger. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Joe’s shoulders tense, so he lets it go, turns the page. </p>
<p>There are several pages of Nile, next. The first ones are more tentative, ones where the curve of her nose has been corrected several times, ones where Joe has clearly been trying to figure out the best likeness. Nicky can’t help but smile, the heaviness in his chest easing up as he traces her features on the page with his gaze. </p>
<p>“Do you think she’ll find me creepy?” Joe asks, studiously looking down at his watercolor block instead of up at Nicky. He sounds genuinely worried, as much as he’s trying to make the question sound light. </p>
<p>Nicky shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I think she’d like to see these. She seems to have a real appreciation for art. To the point that I admit,” he tilts his head, his smile widening as Joe looks up at him, “I feel ill equipped discussing it with her. Perhaps you would like to pick up the slack, hm?”</p>
<p>The words make Joe’s smile return, and easily it morphs into a laugh. Nicky raises both his eyebrows in question, and immediately Joe shrugs. “I would love to,” he explains, “it’s not the suggestion.” He turns his paint brush, pokes Nicky’s arm with the blunt end of it. “I just love how it took you mere days to grow to love her. You should see yourself when you speak of her.”</p>
<p>Nicky doesn’t deny it. There’s nothing to deny. He’s known, from the first moment they met Nile, that she would be a true gift, a perfect addition to balance their odd little family. “Are you trying to imply that you’re not as softhearted as I am?”</p>
<p>“Not at all.” Joe smiles in the way that makes his eyes crinkle and impossibly Nicky falls a little more in love. </p>
<p>They sit there for a moment longer, Joe finishing up his painting and Nicky keeping him company. Eventually Joe’s eyes start to slip shut on their own, the tiredness overwhelming now that he’s so relaxed. It is then that Nicky gets up, wordlessly collects all of the art supplies and heads inside, Joe trailing after him sleepily. They only kick off their shoes before climbing into bed, and Nicky barely manages to settle down on the mattress before Joe’s already wrapped an arm around him, pushed a leg between his, and buried his nose into the nape of his neck. </p>
<p>They may have started this sleeping arrangement eight-hundred-odd years ago because of its convenience, because Nicky is the quicker one to wake up, but now there are layers upon layers even in something as simple as this. It’s comforting for them both, sheltering for them both, and Nicky wouldn’t trade Joe’s arms around him for anything. </p>
<p>“She really wants to go see the midsummer bonfires,” Nicky says, his mind wandering back to the earlier conversation he’d had with Nile earlier, by the riverside. He isn’t sure if Joe is still awake, so he keeps his voice soft, silent enough not to startle him awake if he isn’t. </p>
<p>Joe tightens his hold around Nicky, nodding slightly. “We should go. I’d love to see them too.” The words are slightly slurred with how sleepy he is, but he still manages to sound mostly coherent somehow. “You were at the river again?” he asks, sounding a touch more awake. </p>
<p>“Yes,” Nicky answers. </p>
<p>“You spend more time with her than with me these days,” Joe says, the smile audible in his voice. He tilts his head, brushes his beard against the nape of Nicky’s neck, presses a gentle kiss there. All Nicky has to do is huff, and Joe amends, “you spend as much time with her as with me these days.” It’s not even true, but Nicky recognizes it as the teasing it is, and he lets it slide.</p>
<p>“She’s adjusting,” he says, “when you’re newly immortal, let me know. I’ll be there for you, too.”</p>
<p>Again Joe hugs him a little tighter, before relaxing entirely. “You already were,” he mumbles. </p>
<p>Nicky swallows down the strange hint of melancholy that hits him. He focuses on the warmth of Joe against him, on the slow puffs of breath against his skin, on the way he can practically feel it when Joe falls asleep. He closes his eyes and breathes in the familiar scent, slowly, enough times that his mind is blissfully blank.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p><br/>
After a while, it gets difficult to keep track of the years that pass. Not only do they not change with time, which gives a strange illusion of being suspended in time, but their surroundings are always changing and there’s nothing solid for frame of reference. They’re too scared to stay in one place for too long, only a handful of months passing after they’re on the move again, searching for new people to help, new jobs to take to earn a living.</p>
  <p>They settled in a small village for the winter. It’s the furthest they’ve ever gone, after they died for the first time. There seems to be some invisible thread connecting Yusuf to the area and whenever Nicolò suggests they leave further away, he finds excuses and avoids the conversation until something pops up a lot closer. Nicolò doesn’t mind. There’s nothing waiting for him back where he was born and raised, nothing to miss and no one to miss him. So he lets Yusuf choose their destination whenever he seems to get restless.</p>
  <p>For a few weeks Yusuf spends his days at the harbor, where the fishermen always appreciate an extra pair of hands. He’s good at it, whether it is sorting the nets or gutting the fish, or even selling the haul on occasion. Besides he enjoys the easy banter and the camaraderie between the group, one into which he’s been accepted easily enough. </p>
  <p>Nicolò has yet to find such a constant. He helps out here and there, drifts around as if he can’t put down even temporary roots. Often enough people look at him with suspicion, one he cannot fault them for, and he prefers not to force himself where he’s not welcomed. </p>
  <p>It isn’t often that Yusuf is back at the small hut they’re renting before Nicolò is. So when Nicolò pushes the door open with his shoulder, he almost drops the big basket in his arms when he notices Yusuf sitting on the bed. “Yusuf!” he greets, anyway, moving to set the basket down, so he can quickly move to attend the fire. Yusuf seems to have started it, but it’s fading fast, as if he’s forgotten to feed it and Nicolò gently coaxes the flames back alive. </p>
  <p>The silence doesn’t alarm him at first. They’re well used to the comfortable stretches of silence between them, neither of them feeling the need to fill the air with chatter, not anymore. But when Nicolò turns around, there’s something so eerily still about Yusuf that it makes him stop and take another look. Yusuf is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tight in his lap, and something vacant in his eyes as he stares at the wall unseeing. </p>
  <p>Unease fills Nicolò’s gut and he crosses the room in two quick steps, easily crouching down in front of the other man. “Yusuf? What is it?” he carefully keeps his voice low, hoping he’s not overstepping, but it gains him no reaction so he repeats the question. “What is it?”</p>
  <p>“Huh?” Yusuf blinks slowly, once, twice, three times. Then his eyes finally focus and he looks down, looks straight at Nicolò, with clear recognition in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, and when Nicolò grabs his hands he doesn’t resist, but instead flips them around so he can fit them palm to palm and hold on equally as tightly. It’s something that grounds them both, something they started before their friendship shifted into these unexplored territories. </p>
  <p>Nicolò is patient, if anything, and he waits. Eventually he is rewarded as Yusuf takes another deep breath and closes his eyes, before the words tumble out of him. “Do you know what year it is?” he asks, yet he doesn’t wait for a response. “Do you know how long it has been since we— since I—” He swallows, but that’s as much of a pause as he takes before going on. “I have lived a century. A full. Full century.”</p>
  <p>There’s something else on his mind, something that brought this on, so Nicolò doesn’t press. He doesn’t interrupt. </p>
  <p>For a moment Yusuf is silent again, but when he opens his eyes they’re full of unshed tears. “My mother… My father, my brother, my sisters, they—” His voice is choked, making it impossible for him to continue. He doesn’t need to go on though. He doesn’t need to voice what’s on his mind because Nicolò understands him. </p>
  <p>There’s no way that Yusuf’s family still lives. There may be a slim chance that his younger sister may be an old, old woman instead of already gone from this world, but that’s it. For as long as they’ve lived now, for as long as they’ve been moving from town to town, city to city, coast to coast, it’s been easy to ignore the continuous passing of time. Until something comes along and reminds them. </p>
  <p>“What if I forget?” Yusuf then asks, voice small. “What if in another century I will no longer remember my mother’s smile? My father’s eyes? Is it not them dying for a second time, when their son has no recollection of them any longer?” He’s obviously been thinking about this for longer, with the way he speaks so silently but firmly, with how he goes on immediately after. “One morning I will wake up and not remember the sound of Maryam’s laughter, or—”</p>
  <p>“Yusuf,” Nicolò cuts in, no longer able to handle the anguish in Yusuf’s voice. They’ve come to the point where he would gladly put his life on the line for Yusuf’s sake, but he knows no amount of fighting or throwing himself in harm’s way can do anything to <i>this</i>. So he squeezes Yusuf’s hands a little tighter, searches for his eyes with his own. “Let me help you remember.”</p>
  <p>Yusuf’s expression softens, his eyes filled with sadness as he shakes his head. “You have your own memories to cherish. I cannot, <i>will not</i>, take what is reserved for them.”</p>
  <p>If Nicolò hadn’t already known he was utterly and entirely in love with this man, this would’ve cemented it. His heart swells in his chest, and for a moment he is so overwhelmed by sheer emotion that he doesn’t know what to do, what to say, how to handle any of it. He swallows around the lump in his throat and forces the words past his tears. “There is not much I want to remember from my life before.” </p>
  <p>Yusuf tries to interrupt, so Nicolò brings his hand up, presses his fingertips against Yusuf’s lips to silence him. “I will tell you the things I wish to keep. But <i>please</i>,” he says, a little firmer, smiling as he continues, “share your joyous memories to replace the ones I would rather never have made. You would do me a great service. A great kindness.”</p>
  <p>There is a moment during which Nicolò fears Yusuf will press, that he will argue and disagree. It is like a small eternity frozen in time, but eventually Yusuf nods, a smile returning to his face. “My mother’s favorite flower is—was jasmine,” he begins, almost tentative at first, voice getting firmer, focus solidifying, as he continues. </p>
  <p>He talks about his mother, the scent of jasmines surrounding her wherever she went. He talks about sitting by the fire, his eyes closed and the warmth on his face, as she prepared dinner, the scent of spices as familiar as the sound of her voice as she sang while she worked. He talks about the softness of her hands, the comfort of her arms, from when Yusuf could hardly walk as a toddler to the last day he left home and she hugged him goodbye. </p>
  <p>As he talks, Nicolò commits every single detail into his memory, never wavering.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Breakfast together isn’t something they do every day. There are days when they wake up at different times, everyone wandering into the pantry one by one to find something edible. Then there are the days when someone – often Nicky, almost equally often Joe, never ever Andy – feels like actually cooking them breakfast and they all gather around the large dining table for it. The longer they spend huddled in the safehouse, the more often it happens, and those are always Nicky’s favorite mornings.<p>No one has bothered to clear out the table yet, but Nile and Joe have pushed the plates aside far enough to have enough space for a morning lesson, polishing up Nile’s very rusty French. The first time Nicky overheard them, he stopped dead in his tracks, his heart in his throat. Yet after the initial wave of hurt faded it made sense. For one, Nile already knows the basics, so there’s a foundation to work from, which in itself is reason enough. </p>
<p>Yet Nicky is painfully aware that it’s not the real, actual reason. It’s barely been three months, not even remotely enough time for their anger to fade, much less for the deeper wounds to scab over. But he sees his own conflicted feelings reflected back to him in Joe’s eyes. He knows Joe misses Booker, like a cut-off limb, like a part of himself that’s suddenly gone. They all do, but Joe maybe most acutely. </p>
<p>So Joe will take any meager connection to Booker he can get. Even if it is conjugating verbs in French with Nile and pretending like he doesn’t know what really is going on. </p>
<p>Nicky takes one look at the dirty dishes and decides those can wait. They have nothing but time right now. And as much as it’s making them antsy and restless at times, it’s what they need, deep down. So he moves over to the couch, unceremoniously picks up Andy’s legs and sits down at the other end of it. Andy, from where she’s sprawled on her back, just plops her legs down onto Nicky’s lap as soon as he’s sitting. She doesn’t even look up from the book she’s idly flipping through. </p>
<p>Slowly, Nicky picks at a loose thread in the seam of Andy’s jeans, letting Joe’s and Nile’s voices wash through him without really registering any of the words. He’s content to just sit there for now, surrounded by the people he cherishes, listening to the sound of raindrops thrumming against the windowpane behind him. </p>
<p>“Nicky?” Nile calls out after a while, startling Nicky from his thoughts. He looks up, and she gives him a tentative smile. “You can join us if you want? You speak French too, right?”</p>
<p>“I do,” Nicky answers honestly, allowing the corner of his mouth to quirk up into a hint of a smile. “But I am afraid languages aren’t exactly my strong suit. The only reason I know more than one is that I’ve been given an abundance of time.”</p>
<p>Joe laughs from where he’s making tea at the stove. “You aren’t as helpless as you try to make it sound. You already spoke three when we met.”</p>
<p>“Two and a half,” Nicky amends, his smile widening, even more when the words pull a soft laugh from Andy. </p>
<p>Andy tilts her head, looks up at Nile as she lowers her book to rest it on her chest. “Nicky is the one with the numbers. Ask him to multiply anything in his head and he’ll do it faster than that fancy phone of yours.” She gives Nicky’s side a soft kick before settling her feet back on his lap, and all he does is rest his palms on her ankles. </p>
<p>The amused expression on Nile’s face morphs into something almost horrified as he looks at first Andy, then Nicky, then finally at Joe as if he’s the one in charge of her education now. “Please don’t tell me there’ll be <i>math</i>.”</p>
<p>Again Joe laughs, shaking his head a little. He winks at Nicky, but then turns to look at Nile again as he addresses her. “Not at least before you’ve got a couple of languages under your belt,” he says, then lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as if he’s sharing a big secret, “there’s no real plan here. We’re kind of making this up as we go along.”</p>
<p>The situation is new to Nile, but it’s new to all of them. They’ve never been through quite this before. Of course they’ve all picked up skills from one another along the years, but never before did they have someone so much younger than them, someone who was so eager to learn. Even if only to have a distraction from the harsher aspects of reality. </p>
<p>Booker never quite asked for help. Never asked to be taught things. Whatever he learned, he preferred to figure out on his own, sometimes the hard way. And a part of Nicky thinks they should’ve offered more, should’ve pushed harder, should’ve tried to insist…</p>
<p>He shakes the thoughts off, fighting to keep the mood light. So he shrugs, and knowing what’ll follow says, “Math is a language, in a way.”</p>
<p>There’s an immediate burst of laughter from Joe, a groan and a “Sure.” from Nile, and another kick to his side from Andy with a determined “Shut up, Nicky.”</p>
<p>“I don’t remember everything from my childhood anymore,” Joe says, still chuckling, “but I remember how my mother used to insist the same thing. ‘Math is a language, Yusuf, it is a beautiful construct!’ Of course I never saw the light, not when it comes to that.” There’s immediate warmth in his voice as he speaks of his family, his entire demeanor softening. </p>
<p>“Whenever I knew I had disappointed her,” Joe goes on, pouring tea into four mugs. Andy will protest, but they’re all aware of the fact that she’ll also give in eventually and drink it. “I used to bring her flowers. Any flowers worked, she loved them all, but for the truly horrific missteps – like not appreciating math – it had to be her favorite.”</p>
<p>Nicky has heard this story a thousand times before, and as Joe looks at him and smiles, crow’s feet and all, Nicky automatically fills in “jasmine.” Only at the exact same moment Joe finishes his own thought, “iris.”</p>
<p>There’s a split second of deafening silence, and Joe’s smile falls. He looks at Nicky from wide eyes, his hand frozen mid-air with the teapot.</p>
<p>And Nicky knows, immediately and without a doubt. The biggest one of Joe’s fears is losing his family, be it this one he’s found or the one he was born into. He’s already had to deal with losing his mother, his father, his brother and sisters, his cousins and aunts and uncles, to the inevitability of death. To lose the memories of them? That would be losing them all over again.</p>
<p>Reflexively Nicky swallows the lump in his throat and quickly shakes his head. The devastation on Joe’s face, his beautiful eyes so sad, makes something within Nicky fracture. So he pushes back his conviction, tells himself he can’t be certain his own memory is correct. “Iris, of course. I don’t know where my head was at,” he says as firmly as he knows how, meeting Joe’s eyes straight. </p>
<p>Something in Joe relaxes and he smiles, tentatively at first, honestly relieved next. The joy returns to his eyes, and if that isn’t why Nicky was put on this earth, then he doesn’t know what.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p><br/>
Nicky hears the loud voices already from afar. He smiles into his book, and while he doesn’t close it he isn’t really paying it attention anymore. Instead he listens to Joe and Booker, their laughter and animated conversation, and finally how they fumble with the door and practically fall inside. Nicky has a straight line of sight from the couch to the front door, and he tries to stifle a laugh at how Joe practically stumbles over his own two feet in his attempts to get out of his coat. </p>
  <p>“Nicky!” Joe exclaims, excited and even slightly breathless. “Can you <i>believe </i>that Booker has never learned to play Mill?” He makes a beeline for the bedroom that’s usually reserved for Andy, knowing that he can find the board and the game pins from the closet. On his way he only stops to press a quick kiss on the top of Nicky’s head, patting his shoulder. “I’m going to <i>teach him</i>.”</p>
  <p>Wordlessly Nicky glances up at Booker, and from the shifty smile he gets he thinks that Booker might not be the one about to learn something. “Had fun?” he asks instead of commenting. He doesn’t exactly know where the two were, as Joe had only stage-whispered that it’s a secret. Which can only mean one of two things: either it’s something Nicky has zero interest in, or it’s something Joe plans for the two of them to do later. </p>
  <p>Booker shrugs first, like he usually does, as if he’s going to brush it off. But then he smiles instead, a barely there thing that softens into something genuine. “Yeah,” he says. “It was. I’m not allowed to tell you what it was, though.”</p>
  <p>“I know,” Nicky says. So something Joe has in store for them, too. With Joe it could be anything from high culture to sports, from a grand event to a really cool rock. Nicky is looking forward to being surprised. </p>
  <p>At that moment Joe barrels back into the room. “<i>Now</i>,” he exclaims, and all but slams the game on the table. “Get ready.” </p>
  <p>Obediently Booker takes the other armchair, leaning forward to look at the wooden board as if he’s never seen the game before.</p>
  <p>Nicky huffs, amused. He closes the book and sets it aside, before pushing himself up from the couch. Joe barely even notices him approach, with how excitedly he’s explaining the rules to the game. Only when Nicky stops right next to him he looks up questioningly. “I’m going to bed,” Nicky informs him, leaning down to give him a quick peck. “Join me when you’re ready.”</p>
  <p>Easily Joe grabs Nicky’s hand, bringing it to his lips so he can press a soft kiss onto his knuckles. “Sure, love. Dream of me,” he winks, playful and almost theatrical, and it makes even Booker laugh. </p>
  <p>Utterly and helplessly fond, Nicky doesn’t even comment, he just hides his smile and dodges out of the room. </p>
  <p>Nicky goes through the motions of getting ready for bed, brushes his teeth and changes his clothes, finds the fluffiest woolly socks he has. He knows Joe will complain about them later, claiming they itch, although it’s all for show, and he would never deny Nicky his right to warm toes. More than once Nicky has waken up wearing thick socks although he went to bed without. </p>
  <p>There’s a muffled sound of laughter and chatter from the living room, making the place feel more like a home. Suddenly Nicky wishes that Andy was there, too. She could use some happiness in her life. Ever since Quynh… ever since that day, it’s like Andy’s life goes in cycles, better and worse, and lately everything has been in a downwards spiral. </p>
  <p>Nicky makes a mental note to call Andy in the morning. To coax her into joining them. Even if it’s for a job, she should be with them, she shouldn’t be alone. </p>
  <p>The covers are cold as Nicky buries himself in bed, presses his face into the pillow and inhales in hopes that it smells like Joe. He’s beyond even entertaining being embarrassed by it, only lets out a happy little sigh as he finally relaxes.</p>
  <p>Later, Nicky’s almost asleep when the bedroom door creaks open and Joe slips inside. It’s obvious how hard he tries to be quiet, as he tiptoes around the room and goes to shut the blinds and gets undressed, and Nicky takes pity on him after only a moment. “Did you have fun?” he asks, voice low and raspy, words a little slurred with how sleepy he is. </p>
  <p>Even in the darkness of the room he can see Joe’s expression brighten. “Yes, very much,” he says, enthusiasm clear in his voice. He pads closer, lifts the covers so he can slip in bed right next to Nicky, and they take a moment to get comfortable. Nicky is the less coordinated one right now so he ends up cradled against Joe’s chest, and he barely has the presence of mind to tilt his head and press a soft kiss in the hollow of Joe’s throat. </p>
  <p>“I know it’s not so simple, but I think he’s happier these days,” Joe says, his smile audible. He’s practically vibrating with energy, with how happy he is, and he tightens his arms around Nicky for a moment as if to channel at least some of that. “I think he’s getting better.”</p>
  <p>Nicky makes an acknowledging sound. He puts in effort and props his chin against Joe’s chest, so that he can look up at him. “He laughs more.” That earns him a brilliant smile, and Joe lets out a huge breath as if he’d been worried that Nicky would disagree with his assessment. He’s so clearly relieved, and Nicky’s chest feels like bursting with all the love and affection within. </p>
  <p>“He lost a lot,” Joe says, more somberly. “But I hope he’ll see he still has a family.”</p>
  <p>Slowly, Nicky nods, before settling back against Joe. “He’s still young. Give him time.” Idly he draws a line across Joe’s chest with his finger, and before he even realizes it he’s tracing patterns. When he realizes Joe is paying attention, he draws a large heart, making Joe laugh.</p>
  <p>“You charmer,” Joe says, amusement in his voice. “Are you trying to distract me from how you’re wearing socks to bed?”</p>
  <p>“No,” Nicky argues. Casually he shifts until he can press his sock-clad feet between Joe’s calves, grinning at the grumbles it earns him. “You love me and my socks.” There’s a sense of calmness that spreads through him as he says it, even if it’s probably the millionth time, a sense of contentment, that comes from knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he’s right.</p>
  <p>Joe huffs, but despite that he just tangles their legs and holds Nicky close.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It starts with a whimper. Joe shifting against him. Fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, and through it into the flesh of his side. It almost hurts but Nicky is already awake, already aware of what’s happening so he doesn’t try to jerk away. When the next soft whimper gets buried into the nape of his neck he gently pries Joe’s fingers off his shirt and turns around, bumps their foreheads together. “Joe,” he says, soft, “Yusuf.”<p>Joe only shivers, whimpers again, blindly grasping for Nicky in his sleep, and Nicky laces their fingers together. He squeezes tightly, in the way he knows is grounding for Joe even when he’s not yet awake. He keeps talking, reverting back to the mix of languages they’d used hundreds of years ago, just the two of them. A part of him wants to just shake Joe awake but he knows better, knows what makes things easiest for Joe, and respects that. So he keeps calling out for Joe, until Joe finally blinks his eyes open, shakes himself out of the nightmare. </p>
<p>“Hello,” Nicky says as their eyes meet. Joe relaxes minutely, and it leeches some tension off Nicky in turn, but neither of them actually lets go from where their hands are locked in a grip so tight it nearly hurts. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p>
<p>“No,” Joe says, without hesitation. Sometimes he can’t wait to get it all off his mind, sometimes he tells Nicky in excruciating detail whatever it was that sent him into a fitful night terror. Sometimes he has no strength to go through it again, not before there’s the cover of daylight and he’s properly awake again. </p>
<p>When Joe relaxes a touch further, Nicky gently disconnects their hands. He moves to sit up, and Joe lets him with only minimal grumbling. As soon as Nicky settles leaning against the headboard, Joe shifts closer to him and wraps an arm around him. He buries his nose into Nicky’s stomach, his breath hot even through the thin shirt. “Will you sing for me?” he asks, voice muffled.</p>
<p>“For you, always,” Nicky replies, carding his fingers into Joe’s curls. He picks a song at random, an old lullaby his mother used to sing when he was but a boy. It’s short and simple, so he lets it glide into another one, a song Joe first taught him by a campfire when they were tentative friends at best, but resigned to being companions for the foreseeable future. </p>
<p>Slowly, bit by bit, the tension bleeds off Joe and his breathing steadies. Nicky keeps gently scratching his scalp, keeps singing in a soft, private voice until he’s certain that Joe has fallen back asleep again. </p>
<p>There’s a gentle knock on the door, more a scratch, and Joe doesn’t even stir. Nicky keeps his voice level, but raises it enough to be heard. “Come on in.”</p>
<p>The door opens and Nile hesitantly steps forward, offering Nicky a soft smile. “I …I heard. I figured we could… not-sleep together.” She sounds hesitant, but there’s genuine hope in her eyes as she looks at Nicky. She even raises her hands, shows the three mugs of tea she’s brought with her. </p>
<p>When Nicky nods at her to approach, she visibly relaxes, and only turns to carefully close the door behind herself. She sets one of the mugs on the table, hands another one to Nicky, and cradles the third one between her own palms. Again she waits until Nicky nods in wordless permission before she carefully sits down on the mattress, the bed wide enough that she can fold her legs under herself and sit comfortably and still not even touch the other two in it. </p>
<p>Nicky takes a sip of his tea, smiling at the way it warms him from the inside out. “This is good,” he says, “thank you, Nile.”</p>
<p>Nile gives a small shrug, almost embarrassed. “It’s just tea,” she says, but the corner of her mouth lifts anyway. “I woke up from… I woke up,” she swallows, averts her eyes and avoids looking at him straight. “And I heard you were talking so I figured you. You too.”</p>
<p>“You can always come here,” Nicky says earnestly, “even if we’re asleep. You do know that, yes? You’re always welcome.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Nile says in an exhale, her smile relieved. She’s still obviously shaken by the dream she had, avoids looking straight at Nicky and stares down at her tea. </p>
<p>“Tell me about it,” Nicky says. He looks at Nile until she looks up, meets his gaze, and when he smiles at her she obviously makes a decision and takes the offer. Once she starts talking she can’t seem to stop, and it all pours out of her in detail. She’s squeezing the mug between her hands tight at first, trying to stop herself from shaking, but with every word she gets out she seems to calm down, until her breaths get easier. </p>
<p>All Nicky does is listen, make soft questions to help her forward whenever she seems to be at a loss for words. He keeps scratching Joe’s head softly, keeps toying with his curls, always aware of his slow and steady breaths even when he’s focusing his conscious attention on Nile. </p>
<p>Eventually she quiets down. The set of her shoulders isn’t as tense as before, her smile coming easily, and the relief is so palpable in the air it’s impossible to miss. She nods towards the third mug of tea on the table. “His tea is probably ice cold by now,” she says, almost apologetically. She takes a moment to just stare down at her own mug, half-full and equally cold, before she turns her gaze towards Joe and smiles. “I’ve wanted to say thank you,” she says softly, “for giving me such a warm welcome.”</p>
<p>Nile takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second. “This still <i>sucks</i>,” she says with emphasis, “I miss my family. I miss my friends, I miss my <i>life</i>. But,” she pauses and looks up, meets Nicky’s eyes straight, “But I know it could suck so much more. So. It means a lot to me, and I want to say it out loud.”</p>
<p>Nicky’s heart constricts in his chest with sheer emotion, and he wonders, for the thousandth time, what they ever did to deserve Nile. Rationally he knows it doesn’t work like that, of course it doesn’t, but she’s already proven time and time again what a balancing force she is in their little group. If he didn’t have his arms full of his still sleeping soulmate, he’d surge up to hug her, but now he settles for a smile. “You can tell him in the morning. He’ll be happy to hear that.”</p>
<p>Nile frowns a little, before understanding dawns on her face. “He has been absolutely great. But Nicky,” she pauses for emphasis, “I meant the both of you.” She immediately raises her hand to silence him as if she <i>knows </i>he’s going to protest. “You’ve been as warm and welcoming as he has.” </p>
<p>Nicky genuinely doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels tears burning in his eyes and refuses to blink lest he lets them fall. “I try,” he says, surprisingly steadily for how he’s feeling, “the best I can. But the truth is, I never even knew warmth before I met him.” He glances down at Joe, who’s practically drooling on his shirt. “If I have any warmth to give, it’s because he gave it to me first.”</p>
<p>“You should give yourself some credit, too,” Nile says softly. She gets up and takes the empty mug from Nicky, and the full one from the table. “Try to get some sleep,” she says then, and with a quick smile from the doorway she’s gone. </p>
<p>“Hm,” Nicky huffs, amused despite himself. He cards his fingers back into Joe’s hair and gives the soft curls a gentle tug. “How long have you been awake?”</p>
<p>It’s mildly surprising that Joe’s voice isn’t even a touch sleepy as he replies. “Not long. Long enough.” He tilts his head so he can place his chin on Nicky’s stomach and look up at him from those bright, beautiful eyes glistening with emotion. “She’s right, you know. You never give yourself enough credit.”</p>
<p>“So you keep saying,” Nicky says, fond. </p>
<p>“Come here. You need sleep too.” Joe rolls off Nicky and onto his side, lifting the covers as he gestures almost impatiently for Nicky to come closer and settle down too. Easily Nicky follows, slots himself into Joe’s arms the way he’s done tens of thousands times before. Maybe it’s the tea, maybe it’s the shared warmth, maybe it’s the way the talk with Nile has settled something inside of him. Whatever it is, his eyelids feel heavy, sleepiness creeping in.</p>
<p>He is drifting somewhere on the edges of wakefulness when Joe presses a kiss under his ear and whispers, “the warmth was always there, in your heart. I just helped it free.”</p>
<p>Nicky falls asleep with a smile on his face.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p><br/>
It starts with a soft, barely audible sound. One that Nicolò probably wouldn’t have even noticed was he not awake already. At first he thinks he’s hearing things, thinks that it was his mind playing tricks on him or the wind howling outside, or maybe the walls of the building creaking in a way that sounds way too human. He blinks his eyes open from where he’s been trying to force himself to sleep, and there it is again, louder. </p>
  <p>Alarmed, Nicolò shifts, but when he moves the arm around his waist tightens almost to the point of being painful. Somehow he manages to turn, but it ends up in his nose being squished against Yusuf’s shoulder, the hold on him tightening even further, and he wills himself to relax to show he’s not going anywhere. “Yusuf?” he tries, softly, his voice oddly loud between them in the darkness of the tiny room. “Are you alright?”</p>
  <p>The only response he gains is nothing short of a wail, Yusuf thrashing restlessly in his sleep, and Nicolò doesn’t know how to react to it. It’s not like he’s never seen Yusuf have a nightmare before. They’ve been traveling together for so long now, first as reluctant allies, slowly growing to appreciate the company first forced upon them. Nicolò would like to think that recently they have grown to be truly friends, but he doesn’t want to say it out loud for the fear of shattering whatever fragile thing is building by being too brash about it. </p>
  <p>He has seen Yusuf like this before. Yusuf has seen him like this before. But never has he been gripped so tightly, held onto like he’s a lifeline, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. As there is no answer, he raises his voice, the words dropping like stones into the darkness. “<i>Yusuf</i>. Wake up.” </p>
  <p>There is no answer but another wail. </p>
  <p>“Yusuf!” Nicolò tries, louder.</p>
  <p>This time Yusuf practically jumps awake. His eyes fly open and he startles back, lets go of Nicolò and scrambles away from him. He doesn’t get far, not when they’re sharing the single bed in the room, huddled under the same blankets as it’s inhumanly cold in their lodgings. He looks around wildly, until finally his eyes settle on Nicolò, wide in an unspoken question. </p>
  <p>“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Nicolò apologizes. “You were… dreaming.” He bites his lip, casts his eyes down as he doesn’t know what else to do. A part of him wants to reach out for Yusuf and pull him close, but he’s not certain if he’s allowed to do something like that. Not when the only reason they’re even sharing space this closely together is to fend off the cold. </p>
  <p>Yusuf barks out a laugh, an ugly sound so unlike his usual vibrant laughter, and it turns into a choked sound in the end. He shifts until he’s sitting up against the wall, the covers pooling around his waist, and when he shivers it’s probably as much from cold as it is from the memory of the dream. “That is one word for it,” he says, attempting a weak smile, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”</p>
  <p>Nicolò doesn’t say he wasn’t sleeping, as he knows it would only earn him a worried look and he doesn’t want that. Instead he reaches out, carefully places a hand on Yusuf’s forearm, and gives it what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze. “Tell me about it.”</p>
  <p>“I would rather not.” Yusuf shakes his head. He doesn’t shake off the touch, though, doesn’t pull away from it. If anything he seems to relax minutely as if he’s drawing comfort from it. </p>
  <p>“No, really,” Nicolò insists, “tell me.” </p>
  <p>Maybe it’s because Yusuf is still shaken by the terrors he’d dreamed of. Maybe it’s because he’s beyond tired from their long days on the road. Maybe it’s because he’s freezing cold, or maybe it’s because he’s so uncomfortable underneath Nicolò’s piercing gaze. Whatever it is, something makes Yusuf snap, and there’s anger in his eyes as he spits out a “<i>fine</i>!”</p>
  <p>Surprised, Nicolò lets his hand drop from Yusuf’s arm. Yusuf barely seems to register it. “I was dreaming of the blood and carnage of the battlefield. I raised my hand against an enemy but when the blade cut through them, it wasn’t the soldier choking on their blood but it was my <i>mother</i>. It was my brother. It was my youngest sister. It was my father. I watched life dim from their eyes, I watched them drain away. And I was the one who did that.”</p>
  <p>Nicolò tries to speak, but his throat feels dry like the desert, and he doesn’t get a single word out. </p>
  <p>“Is this what you wished to hear?” Yusuf asks, traces of anger in his voice, even if it’s mostly defeated, mostly tired. “Do you find joy in making me relive these atrocities when I already had to see them once? Do you—”</p>
  <p>Finally, Nicolò finds it in himself to speak. “No,” he interrupts, shaking his head abruptly. He reaches out and grabs Yusuf’s arm again, tighter this time, even scoots a little closer towards him. It’s imperative he shows that was not his intention, at all. “Please do not think that I take any joy in your suffering. I would sooner take that all upon myself, if I could.” </p>
  <p>Desperately he tries to find proper words, finding none, but attempts an explanation anyway. “I was taught that if not spoken out loud, the images of dreams like this will stay and fester. That they will return when you close your eyes again. I apologize,” he looks up, meets Yusuf’s wary gaze with his own, “I only meant to help. I should’ve known better.”</p>
  <p>Yusuf watches him for a long moment, as if he’s letting the words sink in, as if he’s considering them. Then he nods, slowly. “There might be some truth in that,” he allows, and this time when he smiles it’s small but it’s genuine. </p>
  <p>Not entirely certain where he gets the courage from, Nicolò settles back down on the mattress and opens his arms in an invitation. “Come. Get some more rest.” He doesn’t want to sound too presumptuous so he adds a hasty explanation of “It’s so cold here.”</p>
  <p>Wordlessly Yusuf shifts until he can settle down next to Nicolò, under the same covers, pressed so close they’re sharing body heat. Somewhat tentatively he brings an arm around Nicolò again, not holding as tight as before but a solid, comforting weight over him. He’s so close that Nicolò can feel the tension bleeding off him in increments.</p>
  <p>The wind is still howling outside, but something within Nicolò’s chest feels warmer than before.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Andy’s bags are packed.<p>There’s no way for Nicky to process that information and he stands there for who knows how long, in the doorway to Andy’s bedroom, staring at the two small bags sitting innocently in the middle of her bed. The bed that she’d actually made, for once, for the first time since they got here. It’s not that he’s surprised, really. He’s known for weeks that this was coming, the kind of thoughtful silence hovering around Andy that always meant something was up. Yet he chose to ignore the signs, chose to hope he was wrong.</p>
<p>“I’m going away,” Andy says, and when Nicky whips his head around he realizes she’s standing right next to him. How she got there without him noticing it, well, it’s a testament to how distracted he was with his dwelling. She reads him like an open book, as always, and shifts even closer until she can bump her shoulder against his. “Not for that long. A month. Maybe two. It’s been way too long. I can’t… I can’t.”</p>
<p>Nicky looks up, but she doesn’t meet his gaze. She’s staring at the bags, a firm set to her jaw. He knows she’s been restless for a while now. She’s never been content to stay in one place for too long, it’s simply not how she’s made. And to try to hold her back would be beyond cruel.</p>
<p>Slowly Nicky nods, turns his gaze back towards the bags, too. “No jobs without us.”</p>
<p>Andy snorts. A second later she agrees. “No jobs without you.” And Nicky is fairly sure she means it. He knows what she sounds like when she’s trying to be elusive or sneaky and this is not it. </p>
<p>So he pushes his luck. “No reckless heroics.” He tilts his head to nod towards Andy’s midsection, the still healing bullet wound. </p>
<p>Finally Andy meets his gaze and grins, almost lazily. “For now.” </p>
<p>For a moment Nicky looks straight at her, and allows himself to feel all the worries, all the hurt and the doubts, lets the negatives wash through him like a wave. Then he reminds himself of who Andy is. How she is more than capable of taking care of herself, how she is fierce and frightening and a force to be reckoned with. She’ll be fine. She always is. A detail like mortality isn’t going to change who she is. </p>
<p>So he nods. “Alright.”</p>
<p>Andy smiles, something almost like relief in her eyes. “I’m taking Nile with me.” </p>
<p>It’s the first thing that truly surprises Nicky, as he never got the sense that Nile was as restless as Andy. Then again, she’s still so painfully new. She’s still barely begun to sever the connections to her mortal life and it isn’t fair to hold her to any standard, not right now. “She wanted to go, too?” he asks, almost careful.</p>
<p>“I made a good case,” Andy says and laughs. She’s grinning as if she’s telling a joke, but there’s something serious in her eyes, something genuine, as she goes on. “Think of it as extra insurance. She’ll keep me in check.”</p>
<p>Nicky snorts, unimpressed. “As if anyone can keep you in check, Andromache.”</p>
<p>Unbothered, Andy just shrugs. “If anyone, maybe she can.” She bumps his shoulder again, her laughter bright and sudden, resonating in the still air of the room. “Besides, don’t sell yourself short. You know what strings to pull, after all this time. I know your innocent act and what’s hiding beneath it.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” Nicky allows with a hint of a smile. </p>
<p>As if she still needs to convince him, Andy goes on. “Besides, this’ll give you and Joe some alone time. You deserve that.” It’s a little unsettling. She isn’t usually one to give much explanations, rather preferring to do her thing regardless of what others think. Not in a selfish way, not really. But rather in the sense that she is literally thousands of years old and she has earned the right to any and all eccentricities. </p>
<p>As far as Nicky is concerned, she has. “Alright,” he says again, and the word has barely fallen from his lips before Andy already pulls him into a hug, holds on to him gently but firmly. Nicky tilts his head so his nose brushes the tips of her hair, inhales her scent as deep as he can. “I’m going to miss you.”</p>
<p>Andy pulls back and smiles, lets her palm linger on Nicky’s neck. “Two months, tops.” She brushes her thumb over his jaw, before she’s stepping away, something a touch reluctant in that. </p>
<p>Nicky nods. “Two months.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><blockquote>
  <p><br/>
They’ve been walking and walking for days, trying to cross the wasteland to get to their destination. Although if Nicolò is honest with himself, he doesn’t have the slightest idea where they’re headed. He knows it’s a library, Yusuf mimed that to him when they shared only half a language, but it was easy to understand at least that much. It makes sense, too, to go where there’s as much information as possible. </p>
  <p>Maybe someone, somewhere, has heard of this happening before. Maybe there’s a record of people who are unable to die, maybe some scholar can tell them how it keeps happening. So Nicolò follows Yusuf, lets him lead the way and walks without complaints. Even when time stretches on and he no longer knows how long they’ve traveled together. </p>
  <p>They use the time they have to learn to communicate. Yusuf is good with languages, picks up new words and new phrases so easily it’s a constant source of envy to Nicolò. Meanwhile Nicolò understands almost everything as long as Yusuf uses simple enough words, talks slowly enough, but he still struggles in trying to string sentences together. The worst part is the pronunciation, the way the words take the wrong shape in his mouth, tumble over his tongue and get caught in his teeth, coming out a mangled mess. </p>
  <p>Until Yusuf makes him sing. </p>
  <p>It’s a stupid idea, Nicolò thinks at first. How would it be any different saying the words than singing them? It would be only more embarrassing, having to mess up two things, not only the words but also the tune. But he doesn’t have the heart to deny Yusuf anything when there’s that spark of excitement in his eyes, so he does it. And it works. Suddenly the words are not only easier to say, but they remain in his memory without struggle, and all he has to do is hum the first note to recall the ones he needs. </p>
  <p>So when Nicolò sits down next to the fire, groaning as he stretches his aching legs in front of him, the first thing Yusuf tells him is “sing for me.”</p>
  <p>“Have you no mercy?” Nicolò asks, in his first language, not even aiming to be understood. Yet he must’ve asked that often enough before, since Yusuf laughs, his expression softening as he looks at his traveling companion. He doesn’t even need to say anything, all it takes is a look, and Nicolò gives in. He hums softly, before letting it grow into a song, the one Yusuf painstakingly made him memorize at the beginning of their journey. </p>
  <p>Nicolò is tired, and he barely manages to get through the first two verses of the song before the rest of the words elude him and he trails off. He glances up at Yusuf, who’s sitting in a crouch an arm’s length from him, expecting him to be disappointed and disapproving. All he gets is a soft smile, though, as Yusuf tilts his head in a slight nod. “You sing well.”</p>
  <p>It’s a simple compliment, something you could tell any stranger, and yet somehow it makes Nicolò’s insides twist. He’s not used to praise of any kind. His father only believed in corporal punishment, believing anything else would make his children soft. His mother did not go against her husband’s wishes in anything. When he was sent away… Quickly he shakes his head, rids himself of any and all thoughts of the time he spent in the monastery. </p>
  <p>And it’s not only his upbringing. It’s also the way he still remembers Yusuf’s expression twisted in rage, remembers the scorn and the loathing in those big expressive eyes, remembers those features painted in blood on the battlefield. They’d spent days killing each other, fighting in increasingly desperate ways, and it’s sometimes still difficult for Nicolò to equate that man with the one sitting so close to him. </p>
  <p>Nicolò doesn’t know what to do with that. He certainly doesn’t know what to do with the compliment. So he deflects. “You say we are there soon?” he asks, like he asks every night, and Yusuf makes an agreeing sound in the back of his throat as an answer. They are close, and when they reach the library, when they get their answers… “Will you go home, after?” Nicolò asks, so softly it’s barely audible. </p>
  <p>For a moment, Yusuf only stares at him, a crease between his eyes. “What?”</p>
  <p>“When we get answers,” Nicolò tries again. He must’ve botched the pronunciation again, said it too weirdly, the words beyond recognition. Communication still comes slow for them some days, even though they have gotten so much better at it. “You go home? To your family?”</p>
  <p>Yusuf looks at him for a moment longer, and just when Nicolò resigns himself to asking for the third time, tries to come up with some other words to use to make himself understood, Yusuf finally answers. “No,” he says. The sadness in his eyes is endless in its depth, pain flickering over his features, but he repeats. “No. I cannot go home.”</p>
  <p>“No?” Nicolò repeats. A part of him is surprised. Yet another part understands perfectly. What is there left for them, anymore? For the rest of the world they died on the battlefield. They were seen falling down bloody, numerous times, whispers around them growing louder with each time they struck each other down and got back up again. </p>
  <p>“Will you?” Yusuf asks in response. “Go home?” </p>
  <p>He seems almost worried in a way that makes no sense to Nicolò, and it takes him a moment to grasp at any possible answer he could give. In the end, he decides on honesty. “No. There is nothing for me.” </p>
  <p>There is nothing for him anywhere, really. He knows no one in this land, he has no purpose, he has no value to anyone. Which is why he <i>needs </i>to find out why this is happening to them, he needs to find some reason why he is still breathing. He needs to find something that gives him the right to be here, to be alive. </p>
  <p>Yusuf offers him a tentative smile, and something in Nicolò’s chest loosens.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The first four days after Andy and Nile take off go by in a haze. Most of their time Joe and Nicky spend outside, enjoying the way there’s a feel of autumn in the air. It’s hard to even pinpoint what it is, but it’s clear that the summer is over, and somehow it fills them with melancholy although they’re hardly strangers to the changing of seasons. Yet there’s always something a little sad about saying goodbye to summer when they find themselves in colder climates.<p>On the fifth day it rains so much that they don’t even try to stick their noses outside. Instead Joe spends the morning lounging on the couch reading, idly flipping through the pages in such a slow pace that the book must be either so good it’s worth savoring or something he’s read a million times and is only using as a prop while lost in his thoughts. </p>
<p>Nicky is sitting at the table, leaning over his own book, but if he’s honest with himself he hasn’t even turned a page in the past hour, too distracted to keep his focus on the words. He keeps thinking about Andy, what she’s doing and <i>how </i>she’s doing. If she’s holding up her end of the bargain and not taking on jobs behind their backs. He thinks about Nile, how fierce and loyal she is, how warm and genuine, how she already feels like such an ingrained part of their family that losing her would be unthinkable. </p>
<p>He thinks about Booker. If he is holed up somewhere, drinking himself into stupor, or if he’s actually trying to do things differently. A harsh spike of anger lodges itself between Nicky’s ribs, but he doesn’t try to get rid of it. He’s learning to let anger coexist with sadness and worry, with mixed results. Some days all he can think of is how things could’ve gone even worse, and on those days all he wants is to never see Booker again, the anger overwhelming. Other days, all he has is sadness and regret, a deep ache in his soul on Booker’s behalf. </p>
<p>He thinks about Quynh. Screaming in her watery grave, so far out of their reach. This particular train of thought he shuts down before it gets very far, the wounds still too raw even after five centuries. </p>
<p>He thinks about Joe. The most brilliant, loving, beautiful man he has ever known. That pulls a smile from him and he looks up, rests his cheek on his palm as he watches Joe turn another page in his book. Behind him, rain is coming down in torrents along the windowpane, but Joe still seems to be bathed in soft light, as if he’s radiating it himself.</p>
<p>“Enjoying the view?” Joe asks after a while, grinning even as he keeps his eyes directed towards his book. </p>
<p>Nicky huffs out a laugh. “I’ve seen better,” he lies. Suddenly there’s tightness in his chest, pulling at his insides, and he can’t stay still any longer. He abandons his book and his seat, instead crossing the room, as if drawn by a magnet. Easily Joe shifts until they can both fit on the couch, their legs tangled and Nicky practically lying on top of Joe with how narrow the space is. They’re more than practiced in arranging themselves for maximum comfort, and it doesn’t take long before they’ve settled. </p>
<p>Joe continues slowly reading his book, and Nicky only focuses on breathing. He presses his nose into Joe’s shirt and inhales, fills his lungs as slowly as he can and then lets the air out equally as slowly. After half a dozen of those the tightness begins to ease, something finally loosening, and he can feel the rest of the tension rolling off of him like a wave. It’s not a magical fix-all, but it’s not very far from that either, however temporary it may be. </p>
<p>Eventually Joe rests the book against Nicky’s back and shifts his attention towards him. He pushes his fingers into Nicky’s short cropped hair, drawing slow circles on his scalp, and makes a questioning sound in the back of his throat.  </p>
<p>At first Nicky only hums, his eyes slipping shut. “I’m okay,” he answers the unvoiced question. He feels how Joe shifts and presses a kiss on the top of his head, before settling back again. “We need more groceries,” he says as it crosses into his mind, earning a low hum of agreement from Joe, and with a grin he goes on, “unless you want to take up hunting. It’s been a few decades.”</p>
<p>“We could just go fish,” Joe points out, absent-mindedly. </p>
<p>There’s silence again, both of them lost in thought. It’s not uncomfortable, it’s never uncomfortable between them, hasn’t been after they struggled through those first few years together, made their peace both with their immortality and with their new companion. It’s been literal lifetimes, and sometimes they can feel the weight of all that time. Sometimes it feels like all that happened just yesterday. </p>
<p>Nicky thinks of how long Joe’s hair used to be. <i>You should grow it out</i>, he means to say, <i>I miss it</i>. Instead what comes out is a silent, “What will we do now?”</p>
<p>“We will get up and find something to eat,” Joe answers, purposefully misunderstanding the question. It only takes a few seconds and he sighs, reaching above his head to blindly set his book on the edge of the table. Immediately his hand returns to Nicky’s back, and the slow, methodical patterns he keeps drawing on the fabric of Nicky’s shirt work like an anchor. “Andy needs this break as much as we do,” he says, eventually. </p>
<p>He doesn’t say it, but Nicky knows they’re thinking the same thing. How Andy only just found back her faith in their purpose, in what they do, and how precarious that is. How each day that ticks by might be the day she decides it’s not worth it, after all. She’s been struggling for so long, it feels too good to be true to think that she’s now found back her footing again. </p>
<p>But then again there’s Nile. A living, breathing reminder. Someone else worth fighting for, someone worth sticking by.</p>
<p>“She will be okay,” Nicky says, as if he can make it so just by voicing it out loud. And as he says it, he does believe it. He’s known her for centuries and she’s stronger than anyone can even comprehend, stronger than she probably even knows herself. And for as long as he has Joe by his side, Nicky can be strong, too. He wraps an arm around Joe, pushes his fingers between Joe’s back and the couch, and if it’s a tad uncomfortable then Joe doesn’t complain. Nicky breathes a kiss onto Joe’s beard, unwilling to move enough to reach his lips. “As will we.”</p>
<p>“How did you ever become so wise?” Joe teases, as he cups Nicky’s neck in his palm, brushes a thumb over his pulse point. </p>
<p>Nicky grins. “I am only saying what you already know,” he answers with such practiced ease that only comes from them waltzing through this exchange hundreds of times during the time they’ve shared. He tilts his head so he can catch Joe’s gaze with his own, his heart doing the tiniest skip with sheer unadulterated joy. “You’ve always been the truly wise one.”</p>
<p>“<i>Nicolò</i>.” Joe sighs. He tilts his head back, eyes closed, and for a moment he relaxes. It’s a bit too deliberate, in the way that Nicky can immediately read, but all he manages to do is pull his hand out from under Joe before it’s too late. Growling playfully, Joe rolls them over, pushes a hand underneath Nicky’s shirt, and aims for the ticklish spots he’s spent centuries first memorizing and then exploiting. </p>
<p>They tumble off the couch, into a heap of limbs on the floor, and although Nicky hits his head and gets an elbow rammed into his belly, he wheezes out a laugh. There’s a bit of tussling but then Joe plays dirty: he rolls them over and uses the split second of surprise to his advantage and kisses Nicky. It’s merely a brush of lips on lips, nothing beyond that, but it’s as if a switch is flipped and immediately the attempts to tickle one another turn into lingering touches, Joe forgetting his theatrical growls as he aims for another kiss. </p>
<p>That’s as far as it goes. When they break apart Joe brushes his nose against Nicky’s, before relaxing against him. His face ends up pressed into Nicky’s neck, and Nicky just smoothes his palm down Joe’s back in a slow caress. “We should get off the floor,” he says, although if he’s being honest with himself, it isn’t so bad. </p>
<p>“Or we could take full advantage of having the house to ourselves,” Joe points out in a low drawl. </p>
<p>Nicky huffs. “I am an old man,” he says, “if the kitchen floor is the best you can offer me, you will have to entertain yourself.”</p>
<p>“Bed, then?” Joe asks, lifting his head enough that he can look at Nicky. </p>
<p>And there’s nothing Nicky wants to do more than lose himself in those eyes, in the way Joe looks at him as if he’s the most precious thing in the world. He wants to recite poetry in a dozen languages, wants to sing all the love songs known to man. His heart overflows with the affection, with the intensity of the love he feels for Joe, and there are no words adequate enough to convey all that.</p>
<p>So he smiles, reaches up and brushes his fingers over Joe’s cheek. “Bed,” he agrees. The rest goes unspoken.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you can also find me <a href="https://fonulyn.tumblr.com/">on tumblr</a>, if you wanna say hi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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